


Once Upon A Happenstance

by simply_kim



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anime & Manga References, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Trust Issues, endings and beginnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simply_kim/pseuds/simply_kim
Summary: There is something wrong with Kimishita. It’s not an apparent problem, but he can definitely see it. He does not understand why nobody has said anything, or even noticed that there is something wrong. But Ooshiba’s a hero – he’s always right.





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**Heroic Advances**

* * *

 

There is something wrong with him. It’s not an apparent problem, but he can definitely see it. He does not understand why nobody has said anything or even noticed that there is something wrong. But he’s a hero – he’s always right. He can spot the difference between the person before and the current one practicing free kicks, a mile away.

“Oi!” He calls out, a knot forming on his brow when everyone turned **_but_** him. Oh no. No one disrespects him. He is royalty – nobody has the right to ignore him. Maybe except his former captain. Or their coach. But those two are different matters altogether. Dammit, he needs to catch up on professional-type football skills as soon as possible so he would be able to legitimately gain the right to boss them around.

He grits his teeth in annoyance, calling the other out again, and this time kicking the ball toward his target in an effort to disrupt the other’s concentration. It is wide, the strike; however, it does serve its purpose as he sees shoulders stiffen and blazing eyes train at him accusingly.

“Ooshiba, you ass! The hell is wrong with you?!”

Ooshiba Kiichi snorts and stalks forward, rolling his eyes as he sees the other man’s aura darken further. “The hell’s wrong with **_you_**?!” He roars back. “I’m your captain! I call, you come running!”

“Says who? Who died and made you king?!”

Upon closer inspection, he recognizes the other’s infamous rage and something else he cannot decipher. He credits it to his superior emphatic abilities (which Kazama keeps saying is nonexistent, rude underclassman that he is), and since it is blatantly showing, Ooshiba thinks it’s best to address it before it festers and drags his chances of being scouted in the next football season. It’s difficult to rationalize, but for some reason or other, the guy’s assists always end up giving him the chance to score magnificently.

“Says me!” He snarls as he feels a hand grasping his shirt front, his own hand automatically doing the same to his antagonist. “I am king of this castle and you’re a mere subject, idiot!”

“I am **_not_** your subject, idiot! You do not own me! Coach said personal practice time, so I do my duties however I wish! You can’t boss me around!” Comes the scathing response, glare boring deep into Ooshiba’s skull. He can feel the beginnings of an ire-induced headache in his temple, his veins standing out in relief. It seems the other is in a similar state, except… there is that thing again, the one he can’t describe. There really is something wrong, and he is duty-bound to know what it is.

“Umm… senpai?”

The sudden intrusion is enough to make both of them turn with matching enraged expressions. “ ** _What_**?!” They growl in unison, still clutching each other’s shirts menacingly.

Nakijin Shou, their current regular goalkeeper, drops the balls cradled in his arms; sweat beading down the side of his face as he raises his hands in surrender. “Umm… Captain Ooshiba… Vice-Captain Kimishita-senpai, Coach Nakazawa told me to call you. I think he wants you in the conference room as soon as possible.”

Ooshiba straightens and drops his hands to his side. There is a slight hesitation evident in his current adversary’s movement as he did the same. He remembers seeing Kimishita flinch when the ever-polite Nakijin called them by their rightful titles.

 _He couldn’t still be spiteful of Coach Nakazawa’s choice is he?_ He wonders, giving his shorter vice-captain a short (equally short, he snorts inwardly) sidelong glance before nodding in acquiescence to the relayed request and walking away leisurely. _Is it because he finally realizes how inferior he is compared to my amazing self?_

He frowns, tuning out the sound of Nakijin’s squeak as his vice-captain reiterated the need to take care of football gear and application of better sunblock on his skin since the younger goalkeeper is glowing a new shade of troubling red from UV exposure. _I don’t think that’s it._

Ooshiba had been named captain last month (half of the team seemed so shocked that he initially didn’t know what to feel but decided they were just jealous of his new role. But just in case, he remembers their faces and will punish them if they so much as breathe wrong in his general direction next time they have a meeting), and Kimishita’s peculiar expression as well as behavior started showing only a week ago after an afternoon of skipping practice. It was something unheard of in Kimishita’s case; of course he would notice sooner or later. He’s not as unobservant as some people think he is (again previously pointed out by Kazama when he briefly protested Nakazawa’s choice, the insolent brat).

 _What is it then?_ He racks his brains, trying to wrap his head around this mystery only he sees. _The festival incident last year? But that’s a long time ago – plus, I bought him some A5-grade beef when we won Nationals._

“Where the friggin’ heck are you going, you idiot?! It’s this way!” Startled from his reverie, he stops and turns. Kimishita is there, hands on his hips and the usual scowling expression present on his face. It seems to give nothing away, but he can really see it.

_There is something wrong._

“I know that, peasant!” He huffs, jogging toward Kimishita, his face darkening in answer to the other’s mood. “Just taking a shortcut.” Ooshiba flips his fringe out of his eyes.

“There’s only one way to the conference area, Ooshiba.” Kimishita snorts contemptuously. Starting the trek to their meeting as Ooshiba caught up with him. “Unless you want to ninja your way into it by boring a hole through the south wall.”

Cheeks heating up in annoyance and embarrassment, he growls in warning, prompting the other to do the same. Today is the first time in a week he has been this close to the shorter man, and traces of physical differences not unusual to others are suddenly magnified. _He is thinner._ He notices the forearm width and the way his uniform hangs on him. _It’s not too visible, but I’ve never seen him this skinny since… ever. His collarbone is more prominent. His –_

Kimishita must have felt his gaze because he suddenly stops in the middle of the covered walkway. “What?” He asks with a defensive glower.

 _His skin is a bit pasty too_.

“ ** _WHAT?_** ” The other repeats, self-conscious anger rising.

_His cheeks aren’t as rosy when he’s angry. It was completely red before._

“Nothing intelligent to say, huh?” Kimishita scoffs, turning away with an aggravated grumble.

Ooshiba bristles, his body reacting to the condescending tone more than anything. He knows he’s not the best in academics, but making disrespectful nuances on his academic ineptitude (which isn’t really the case, because he’s a football star so he focuses on playing more. He can even top him in the rankings if he wants to. He’s sure of it!) when their former captain got even worse grades and was glorified (does Kimishita think no one knows or notices him obsessing over Mizuki since their first year in the team?) profusely, albeit quietly. “Look here you –.”

“Ooshiba, Kimishita. I knew it was you two. Good. Let’s go.” Nakazawa Katsutoshi interrupts him, peeking through the doorway and motioned for them to hurry up. “I need your input on our first game’s lineup.”

“Yes, coach!” They answer in unison, burgeoning argument forgotten in favour of serious football business.

 _Later._ Ooshiba vows to himself. He will find the answer to his problem. He will pinpoint whatever it is that’s slowly engulfing Kimishita.

He is a hero after all.

 

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Days is solely owned by Tsuyoshi Yasuda. This is a non-profit fic written based on the series for entertainment and plot bunny satisfaction purposes. That is all.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**Long-Distance Relationships**

* * *

 

_There’s something wrong._

It has been a fortnight since he started noticing the initial sinking feeling in his gut whenever he encounters his old Seiseki gear. It is surprising how it resembles the sensation of butterflies before every match, but entirely different for it’s usually accompanied by a foreboding sense of doom.

Mizuki Hisahito, current monster rookie of the region’s premier J-Pro league, stares at the pack of neon laces atop the numerous contents of his keepsake box sitting on his bed. For the life of him, he cannot understand what the matter is. He gathers, if he’s some sort of web-swinging super hero, he could say his senses are tingling. It is highly unusual for him, considering it is currently the off season, and the next wouldn’t be until a month later. He knows with absolute surety that he is in tip-top shape (no matter what that menace Indou says) so there’s no reason for the ill-feelings to even be present. So why? Why is he feeling as if something has gone horribly wrong on his side of the universe?

He starts retracing the events that occurred before this unknown phenomena started. Mizuki remembers having a conversation with his former high school football coach Nakazawa over the phone a month ago. He remembers being asked on his opinion regarding the choice of team captain, with him instantly mentioning his two standout underclassmen Kimishita Atsushi and Ooshiba Kiichi – that one of them is more than capable of leading the team for different reasons. Nakazawa made him choose, and it took him a long time to decide; long enough for the older man to ask if he was still on the phone. In the end, Mizuki remembers choosing Kimishita over Ooshiba if only for a slightly more developed sense of responsibility. Then, a fortnight ago, he received a call from an unknown number. He picked it up and he remembers being surprised upon hearing the sound of an extremely familiar voice.

Seiseki’s former captain frowns at the memory of that dear tone of voice. It was Kimishita. His favourite midfielder thanked him for his endorsement, and that the coach had given him a title he most deserved. Of course Mizuki instantly thought Nakazawa had indeed chosen the younger man as the captain, however, he was surprised to learn he was only promoted as a supporting character. Ooshiba was named captain, and Kimishita Vice-Captain. He remembers protesting in his own awkward way saying he voted the other way around, and promising to call his former coach to reiterate his choice and reasons for doing so, but was promptly silenced by a sudden burst of quiet laughter at the other end of the line. It was fine and it suited him better, Kimishita said. He heard him utter those words, but there was something in the younger man’s voice belying his spoken intentions.

During the rest of the phone call, Kimishita sounded like he had given up on something Mizuki couldn’t pinpoint. Mizuki asked if he was satisfied with his current situation and the new Seiseki team, waiting for the yes that never came. All the other said was that everything was fine on his end, something that was unexpected of the one who is infamous for hitting targets on point. After the phone call, Mizuki started feeling listless. There seemed to be an underlying negative emotion after the short pause before Kimishita’s pronouncement of normality.

On hindsight, Mizuki should have said something, prodded his younger friend until he blurted out whatever it was he’s hiding. He knows he’s probably one of the very few people who could get away without as much as a scratch from him. Of course he would have been subjected to a few verbal invectives for his nosiness, but at least the atmosphere would be better. Clearer. Not knowing is the worst thing ever.

And now here he is, trying to grasp why he’s been reduced to spacing out in the middle of rearranging his room, wondering why he feels like he has missed something terribly important.

Mizuki sighs, shaking his head as if to clear it, and starts to stand up to look for his mobile phone.

He needs to make a very important call.

* * *

  

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**Options and Scales**

* * *

 

Of course he knows what’s wrong – it’s not as if it’s a big secret.

Not to him at least.

“Kimishita.” He calls out as the team’s current captain and vice-captain starts bickering their way out of the conference room. “Stay behind a little bit.” He sees both young men’s shoulders stiffen as they stop before the door, Ooshiba’s hand ready to slide it open. Kimishita takes a deep breath and turns back to him reluctantly, a tick on his jaw as he undoubtedly tries to remain calm.

Nakazawa sees Ooshiba give his vice-captain a strange look before turning toward him with questioning eyes, tilting his head sideways in supplication. He has nothing to say to him, however. There is no need to involve others, as per Kimishita’s request a week ago, no matter how much he is aching to blurt it out so the younger man would be able to acquire a better support system. He could see Kimishita needs one, and there’s nothing better than their big dysfunctional yet levelheaded family – including the previous third years.

He motions for Ooshiba to go ahead with a short nod toward the door, wincing inwardly as Seiseki’s new captain narrowed his eyes as if unsure on what to do. Thankfully, the younger man seems to have given up after a few moments, shrugging as he opens the door, and is out in a heartbeat. Nakazawa sighs tiredly, rubbing his nape in an effort to alleviate the stress building up in him. He swears that one of these days, he would inevitably have a heart attack if things do not fall into place soon.

“Coach.” Kimishita says quietly, standing before him uncomfortably with his hands in his pockets. “Is there something –.”

“Of course there is something wrong, and you know it.” Nakazawa cuts in quickly, watching as Kimishita crosses his arms across his chest. It’s a barrier, he knows. Kimishita is trying to distance himself from everyone else, and at this point, him. “Sit down.” His eyes softens considerably, gesturing toward the nearest chair. He is slightly relieved when the younger man did his bidding without protest.

Meanwhile, he sits on the edge of the table, thoughtfully gazing at the top of Kimishita’s head. His hair still seems healthy enough – nothing is amiss except a slight slenderness from, no doubt, excessive part-time work. “How are you holding up?” He asks after a long moment of silence.

Kimishita’s shoulders tense abruptly. Nakazawa can almost see the gears in the younger man’s head working just to answer his exceedingly simple question. But then again, he can’t blame him. His circumstance is not so simple after all.

“Fine… relatively.” Kimishita finally answers, leaning back and looking everywhere but him.

“Nobody came to visit?”

A slow shake of the head and Nakazawa feels as if his heart would shatter. “Not even one?”

“I told you before, coach, nobody cares enough to visit. Not even my own mother.” Kimishita lets out a gush of breath, eyes finally meeting his accompanied by a strained but wry smile. “Well, except you of course.”

“Did you at least notify them?”

“Yup. Twice. I even called them, but once they knew who I was they hung up on me faster than I could say my name.” Kimishita chuckles darkly. “Seems like they do hate the old man that much – he wasn’t kidding when he told me it will always be he and I against the world.”

Nakazawa clasps his hands together to prevent himself from throwing things. It’s preposterous, this situation. Kimishita deserves so much more. The kid is a straight-A student, a consistent topnotch individual throughout his academic years, overflowing with talent and skill. How could his own family disregard him just because of petty familial arguments? _Not even his mother._ He grits his teeth in anger, trying to school his features into its usual deadpan. “Is that so.”

“It is so.” He hears Kimishita murmur.

“This means you will be moving out soon.” For the life of him, he still couldn’t wrap his head around how calm the other is about all of this. “What will you do with the shop?”

“It goes with the house.”

“Oh.” He mutters with a sigh. “But where will you stay afterward?”

“I don’t know yet, coach.” Kimishita admits feebly. “Well, I still have around one week to think about it, fortunately.”

Nakazawa’s eyes widens considerably at that piece of new information. “I thought it’s a month?”

The younger man shrugs. “The bank is in a hurry to collect.” Kimishita gives him a small smile. He notices the tinge of sadness in his eyes. Nakazawa understands why. The kid grew up in that house and worked tirelessly during his free time in that shop. Losing them is probably the heaviest blow to his psyche.

 _Maybe not the heaviest._ He muses. After all, the heaviest would always be the loss of one’s last remaining family in the world. Considering the lack of maternal touch since his younger years, and the lack of altruistic relatives his entire life, Nakazawa thinks he did not just lose a loved one but his anchor to the future.

Kimishita Atsushi’s father died a week ago.

 _Damn it._ Honestly speaking, Nakazawa does not know what to do. It’s highly inappropriate for him to provide Kimishita shelter since direct personal teacher and student contact is punishable by expulsion. Of course, if he could explain to the school board it would probably be approved, but Kimishita is adamant on informing as few people as possible. The younger man (still considered a minor by law) living with his single football team’s coach would serve as fodder for unwanted negative attention. Heaven knows the kid does not need more stress in his life.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, returning Kimishita’s resigned gaze with his own. “You know, we really should inform the school board. You can just stay with me and we’ll just… dodge gossips or something. I can’t think of anything else.”

“Coach, I’ll be fine…”

“Kid, believe me, you won’t be saying that a week later.” Nakazawa stands up, slipping his hands in his pockets as he racks his brains for a foolproof strategy. It takes him a few moments of tossing ideas in his head until suddenly, one clicks. “You can always live with Ooshi –”

“ ** _NO_**.” Kimishita’s answer is instant and all kinds of vehement.

“Why not? He’s currently living alone in a condo. His parents are –”

“Just. NO.” The younger man stands up turning from him and walking away in annoyance. “I’m going now, coach. I’ll be practicing free kicks with Nakijin.”

Nakazawa cracks a small smile. He doesn’t understand the enmity between the team’s current captain and vice-captain at all. Maybe it’s because they are somehow similar in temperament. He shakes his head and chuckles. “Fine. Go ahead and practice.” He allows. “If you have any other problem, just tell me, alright? Your father was a good friend, it’s the least I could do for him and his most cherished person. I’ll look for other avenues that you’d be comfortable with.”

At that, Kimishita's steps halt, his shoulders shaking slightly. Nakazawa wonders briefly if he’s crying, and the tiny sound of an equally tiny sob gives it away. _Go ahead and have a good cry so you can fight your battles bravely._

His gaze softens as the trembling intensifies, and he stalks forward to wrap the younger man in his arms. He turns him around and holds him tight, a hand stroking his back for comfort. “I’ll always be here to help, Kimishita-kun.” He says softly, closing his eyes as his shoulder starts to become saturated with tears while Kimishita clutches his shirt as if it’s a matter of life and death.

Nakazawa feels him nod subtly with a garbled expression of gratitude muffled by his shirt. He instinctively tightens his hold and sways sideways to calm him further.

“Promise.”

 

* * *

 

 **TBC**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Days is solely owned by Tsuyoshi Yasuda. This is a non-profit fic written based on the series for entertainment and plot bunny satisfaction purposes. That is all.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

**Between Lives**

* * *

 

Kimishita Atsushi lived for his father.

Kimishita Atsushi lived for their shared dreams.

Now that both man and dream are gone, there’s nothing else to do but let go and reconstruct his own. He’s not the type to wallow in misery; not at all. In fact, he takes his current situation as a challenge. It is something he must absolutely overcome.

Unfortunately, as much as he wants to bite the bullet and just do whatever needs to be done, he cannot deny that at the moment he is quite powerless. No matter how mature his mind and soul are, it still doesn’t change the fact that society views him as a minor. Not to mention that his height is not making matters any easier.

 _One year._ He thinks in a sudden moment of immense frustration. _One more year and I'm done with high school._

It isn’t as if he didn’t see this coming. He and his late father had been preparing for this since the latter collapsed a little more than a month ago. His father’s long battle with a debilitating disease had placed them in dire straits for years now, what with the older man’s refusal to touch the small trust fund given as inheritance by his grandfather. It’s being kept safe in a stable financial institution, waiting for Kimishita to turn 20 (his Coming of Age) before he could get a single penny. Problem was, his father didn’t expect the disease would progress so quickly that he wouldn’t be able to have his first drink with his son as an adult.

The end came two years too early.

Kimishita sighs and slumps on the table, closing his eyes in exhaustion. This morning, he laid his father to rest in the small plot of land at a nearby shrine. He would be getting the portable memorial tablet soon, the priest told him. He isn’t looking forward to it at all. He doesn’t want the memory of his time with his father assaulting him every time he sees it. He doesn’t want to break down and cry - he already did a lot of that yesterday in the sympathetic filial arms of Coach Nakazawa.

At this point, he could just say that he would like to be left alone, and that the world should just disappear. However, the cold quiet that settled in the house has the same effect.

He is alone.  

He is literally and figuratively alone.

He grits his teeth and slowly sits up straighter, opening his eyes and staring blankly at the closed door of the room where he found his father unconscious when he got home late from practice weeks ago. He is alone in a house filled with memories of anything, everything, and now… nothing.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stands up and heads to the living room where his bags are strewn about and boxes are piled high. He’s packing for when he surrenders the house and shop to the bank since the properties were made into collateral to fund his late father’s last treatments in the hospital. His entire life encased in one two-storey building; exchanged for the surgery that came too late, the heart that never came, and the breath that never came back.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Regardless of the treatments being last ditch efforts to save his father’s life, he would give anything and everything to extend his existence. It was unfortunate, the reality, but he is not the least bit regretful. A small smile stole into his face as he touched the shirt his father gave him on his 16th birthday. It’s purple with gold stars. His old man was a fan of loud prints, and Kimishita found it endearing to have someone so eccentric in his life.

 _I know you’re up there in the heavens, dad._ With a fond look in his eyes, he traces the outline of the biggest star. _Please continue guiding me as long as I live._

Carefully, he folds it and slips it neatly into the biggest bag. He is about to take another item of clothing from an unfolded pile when he hears the familiar tune of his mobile phone obnoxiously ringing. Startled, he looks around, trying to find where it is as he has forgotten where he placed it last. He finally spies it on top of his school bag and he scrambles to get up, catching it at the 5th ring. He swipes to answer without checking caller id in his haste.

“Kimishita here.” He rasps, fumbling with his mobile as he makes his way back to his previous seat.

“It’s me.”

His steps halt and he remains stock still, eyes widening in surprise.

“... Captain?”

 

* * *

 

**TBC**

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

**Fork in the Road**

* * *

 

He hears a surprised chuckle rumbling low at the other end of the line, and Kimishita ends up wanting the earth to swallow him whole. Running a hand down his face to calm his nerves, he flops on the floor bonelessly, all the while cursing himself for the unintended slip of the tongue.

Old habits die hard it seems.

“You better stop calling me that, Kimishita.” Comes the usual flat tones of Seiseki’s former captain, colouring his cheeks a deep red as he notes the undercurrent of amusement. “I stopped being your captain a few months ago.”

“Force of habit.” He intones, a small smile finally gracing his face. “Do you need something, Mizuki-san?”

“No.” Mizuki answers after a moment of silence. “But there is something you need to tell me.”

Kimishita is confused.  “Huh?”

Mizuki sighs almost inaudibly. “Are you satisfied with your current position?”

_Am I satisfied with my current position?_ He muses, shoulders tensing as he ponders over the hanging question. It seems double-edged, and for a brief moment, he wonders if Mizuki has somehow gotten more levelheaded and crafty after entering the J-league. He knows it’s unlikely though, for sure his former captain is tilting his head sideways, neck twisted awkwardly as he tries to wheedle an answer out of him in his own equally-awkward way. However, he cannot understand the flutter in his stomach and the sudden coldness on the tips of his fingers as the gravity of all probable answers washes over him in waves.

Perhaps it would be best if he revises the question first, he stresses. _Am I unsatisfied with my current position? _

His studies are spectacular. Despite everything he’s going through, he hasn’t dropped from the top spot in his year level, and he’s still in the entire school’s top three. It guarantees him a university scholarship at either Tokyo or Waseda where he would go fulfil his promise to his late father and take up Business and Economics. He still has Coach Nakazawa pledging his help if ever he is in dire need and right now, he’s his strongest ally despite the older man’s cryptic weirdness. He is still a regular in the team – an officer even. His football skills have grown, and he knows if the previous third years are still around, he would be able to knock his previous natural adversaries, attacking midfielders Taira and Indou, down a couple of pegs with his playmaking. He would make it so his former captain’s performance would exceed 100%. He still has his clothes, he still has his trust fund (although he can only touch it after a couple of years more), and he still has his intimidating reputation (he’s not stupid, he knows people are somehow afraid of him enough that they wouldn’t even so much as sneeze wrongly in his presence).

_Am I unsatisfied?_ He asks himself once more. _No. Not really._

_But am I satisfied?_ Kimishita couldn’t say he is.

His life is not rosy at the moment; after all, he just buried his only family hours ago. His house and shop are going straight to the bank’s fixed asset repository, hence the packing. He still doesn’t have a place to stay in for the rest of the school year until he is finally able to live on his own legally upon finishing high school. The deadline for his eviction is more or less a week. The worst thing in all of this is that his own relatives (biological mother included) don’t want him.

He’s completely and utterly alone.

“Kimishita?” Mizuki’s tone is soft and tender. He had only heard him speak that way before during his first year, when Mizuki found him by the river after Seiseki was booted out of the competition. It gave him comfort then, the same comfort he is receiving now. It sounds as if Kimishita is a most precious, treasured existence.   

A sob rises from his throat, burning its way up. The unexpected sound sends shards of hurt that stings his eyes painfully. Even though logically it wouldn’t help, he still cups his free hand on his mouth to prevent any more shameful noises from escaping.

“Atsushi.” Hearing his name breathed gently at the other end of the line gives way to fresh tears he thought he had already exhausted after yesterday’s talk with Coach Nakazawa. He squeezes his eyes to eke out the salty droplets, all the while angry and resentful of his fragile disposition and unwanted bouts of weakness.

“I… I’m…” He keens with a pitiful hiccup. “Mizuki-san, I…”

“Atsushi.” Mizuki’s voice seems closer now, making Kimishita flinch and wonder if he’s imagining things. There is an alien scratching noise at the door, and even though he’s immersed in a depressing internal monologue, his senses are suddenly on high alert.

“M-Mizuki-san, I have to go now. There’s someone outside. I have to check.” He whispers in alarm, pulling himself up and wiping his tears away before grabbing the metal bat by the door. Silently, he thanks his late father for keeping it around even though he greatly detested baseball during his childhood years. At least now he has better use for it.

“Atsushi, don’t –”

He cuts Mizuki off and swipes the call away, steeling himself as he slowly turns the door knob, eyes narrowing into slits and his other more dominant hand gripping his weapon of choice. _I may not be the most balanced person right now, but fuck if you can do whatever you want just because I’m alone!_ He counts to three under his breath and pulls the door open with a bang, blindly swinging the bat at whomever it is disrupting his peace.

“Ouch.”

Kimishita’s eyes bulge at the familiar voice.

Very familiar in fact – he had been talking to him until just now.

“Mizuki-san, what the fuck are you doing here?” Kimishita squawks in disbelief as he drops the bat, staring at the newcomer and his rapidly reddening bruise.

Mizuki lowers the arm he used to protect his head, rubbing at the injury with a small sheepish smile on his face. “Just passing by.”

Kimishita rolls his eyes. “With an overnight bag? Are you kidding? Get in here!” He barks, grabbing the professional footballer’s collar and hauling him inside.

\- - - -

Ooshiba can’t sleep.

He keeps wondering why Coach Nakazawa made Kimishita stay yesterday. Was it about football matters? _Impossible_. He thinks incredulously. _I’m the captain. If it’s about the club, I should have been there too!_ So what was it about then? Was it about whatever’s wrong with his vice-captain?

He purses his lips and splays his arms widely at his side, occupying either side of his king-sized bed. He swears he saw Kimishita wince before he reluctantly turned back, previous bickering forgotten instantly. It’s not like him to do that. Usually, when they reach a standstill, a sulky frown would still be visible on the other’s face – vein on the forehead fixed and throbbing angrily in supplication. Yesterday however, Kimishita’s face suddenly went from annoyed to blank in a snap.

_What’s up with them?_ Ooshiba sighs, turning to his side and curling into a comfortable ball. He hugs his giant bolster pillow, burrowing his nose into the downy material thoughtfully.

He knows something is wrong but he can’t think of anything that would affect Kimishita so much that it interferes with their routine squabbling. He knows the other man similarly views their daily arguments as something of a sport, a way to de-stress. It’s not like they always rub each other the wrong way. Well, maybe 80% of the time, but the rest is mostly going through the familiar motions of biting over every little thing. It keeps them sane in a way, keeps them grounded.

With a groan, Ooshiba gets up and threads his fingers into his unkempt hair, ruffling it vigorously in annoyance. “Dammit, you stupid peasant! How dare you interfere with my beauty sleep!” It takes a minute or two before he stops, arms aching from the sudden forceful movement. He knows that there’s a chance few strands of hair fell off earlier, but it doesn’t matter. They will grow back soon enough. Unfortunately, he knows that this thing residing deep in the recesses of his brain is not going away anytime soon.

To be honest, most of his initial ire since his Kimishita Problem started has gone, leaving behind a growing resolve to get to the bottom of things.

_I need to talk to Coach Nakazawa before early morning practice._ He absolutely must know what’s going on, and at the moment, he knows the older man is his best avenue to achieve this goal. Whiskers knows something, and by the power vested in him by the Universe, he will make him submit to his demands.

But first, he needs to figure out how to catch elusive sleep.

He needs to wake up extremely early after all.

\- - - -

Bedtime finds him curled up on his old futon, eyes closed and head pillowed on another man’s lap. It would have been inconceivable if it’s any other day, but the feel of warm fingers carding through his locks is calming his tattered nerves.

Sometimes, Kimishita wonders what he had done to deserve sharing the same space as Mizuki. His former captain has always been his salvation, always there when he needs guidance most. It’s funny how fate seems to keep throwing them together, weathering through personal issues between or around them, and improving each other through mutual cooperation and camaraderie.

It’s not as if they’re best friends (the guy has Kasahara-san and Usui-san for that), but there is an invisible thread connecting them tightly enough that they constantly seek each other out in times of need. At some point in the past, Kimishita thought Mizuki severed their connection when he seemingly started favouring Tsukamoto. His displeasure showed in the way he treated his underclassman – at least until he realized how gigantic his former captain’s heart was (and still is). Having room for new people in life doesn’t mean he had forgotten the old ones. In fact, in Mizuki’s case, the older relationships carry even more weight and familiarity; strengthening bonds further, and eventually repairing fraying ones.

The ultimate proof is this, him being his source of comfort and strength during episodes when he is most likely to break.

“So that’s why.” Mizuki murmurs thoughtfully, quietly.

“Yeah.” Kimishita allows, opening his eyes and gazing at the other’s profile illuminated by his room’s harsh overhead light. “It’s gonna be difficult in the next few days, but I’m sure things will work out in the end.”

“I’m sure it will.” The other promptly agrees. “But Atsushi… you should tell them, the team.”

_I knew it_. He understands why, but he’s adamant on not letting a lot of people know. He doesn’t like being the focal point of pity, especially from the team he co-leads. “This is my problem, Mizuki-san.”

Mizuki is quiet, looking down at him, eyes meeting his and locking intensely. Kimishita swallows involuntarily at the penetrating gaze, willing himself not to look away.

“Grandpa died during my first year in high school… before we met. Back then, he was the only family I had.” He starts, closing his eyes as if to gauge up the memory engraved deep in his psyche. “I had been like you. Until Nakazawa-san and my captain learned about it and helped me out.”

Kimishita stares, transfixed.

“They told the team without my knowledge.” Mizuki continues. “Although I had been resentful in the beginning, I’m glad they did. The team provided me with the support I never knew I needed.”

Support.

He wants to scoff at the notion, considering the difference in their circumstances. Mizuki has relatives willing to take him in but he doesn’t. Still, he knows the other has a point. It can’t all be pity, can it? After all, it’s normal that they would initially think his life is as wretched as hell (anyone would), but letting it out in the open would cut some of the stress of nondisclosure away.

“Support…” He whispers softly.

“Support.” Mizuki repeats with a small smile. “Like right now, I want to drag you and your belongings with me to my team’s dorm, but it’s too far from Seiseki and you have early morning classes. But I am here to make you feel better in any way possible, seeing as this is all I can do. For now.”

“For now?”

“For now.”

Kimishita returns the smile with one of his own. “You’re surprisingly sappy, Mizuki-san.”

Mizuki huffs in amusement. “I’m always full of surprises, Atsushi.”

He chuckles in reply and lets his lids drift close. _Tell the entire team, huh._ He muses. _I wonder what they’d say._

A sudden unbidden image of his favourite nemesis laughing at his misery intrudes upon his thoughts. Of course he knows Ooshiba is not that evil, but he still wouldn’t put it past the guy to say or do something that would inevitably cause him some sort of distress.

But who knows, maybe Ooshiba is full of surprises too.

_I doubt it though. He’s an insensitive idiot._

 

* * *

 

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX:**

**Choices**

* * *

The successive chorus of ‘Mizuki-san!’ and ‘Captain!’ irks Ooshiba.

It’s not as if he hates his former captain, it’s just that this is his time, and nobody should be intruding into his shining moments. What’s more, he overheard him tell coach Nakazawa that he’s staying temporarily with his vice-captain. It once again piques him, being reminded of the extent of the two’s closeness. It irritates him knowing that he doesn’t share the same thing with Kimishita who has always been nothing but his nemesis since time immemorial.

It infuriates Ooshiba that right now, his vice-captain is sporting a small smile on his face and a fond haze in his eyes as he looks over where their gaggle of teammates crowd around the Seiseki legend. He never sees that expression on Kimishita’s face when he’s with him. Is his existence so spectacularly displeasing to him that he can’t even show a truly happy mien when they interact?

He snorts inwardly and turns away, sitting on the edge of the field with his back to everyone. Ooshiba gathers he needs a bit of distraction from reality, seeing as practice seems to have been terminated for the time being. He doesn’t want pointless things to distract him from his focus. He has enough negative things on his plate right now, what with the last exams’ results pending public posting and he’s not sure he is going to pass every single subject (especially Math) despite all the work he has put into studying.

With a flourish, he takes out his trusty Bluetooth headphones and puts them on. After a few moments fiddling with his paired music player, he is soon immersed in his jam. He riffles through the contents of his bag and fishes out a fluffy towel, and then, with haphazard movements he starts drying his skin, ridding it of sweat. There are some parts he can’t fully reach, like the middle left side of his back, but it doesn’t matter since it’s only a small patch of skin anyway. He rubs his drenched hair vigorously with a sigh, closing his eyes as the partially-wet towel absorbed the excess moisture from his hair and scalp. It feels great on the field but it seems he still prefers to be on the dry side of things, he muses as his hands finally still.

Leaving the towel on his head, Ooshiba reaches for his water bottle with the intent to gulp down all its contents. He’s thirsty, and his mood is aggravating his parched throat. Unfortunately, the bottle is completely drained. A noise of distress erupted from his lips upon the realization that he has to cross to the other side of the field just to get to the water fountain and the vending machines. He can’t be bothered to get up and do so; what he does instead is to slump forward, determined to wait until his body starts cooperating enough to voluntarily move and do something to alleviate the burning in his throat.

 _Dammit._ He grouses inwardly. _Now I’m annoyed, tired, **and** thirsty. What is this life._

He lets the hand holding his empty water bottle drop to his side, effectively dislodging his grip on the plastic container. It seems today is not his day. Maybe he shouldn’t have lost the lucky item list the son of his father’s colleague gave him a couple of months ago. It’s not like he believes in such things; superstition is not his thing after all. At the moment though, he thinks a miniature version of the day’s lucky item wouldn’t have been a bad thing to carry round in the extra pocket of his bag.

Ooshiba wants the unwanted things and people around him to go away. Not permanently, but temporarily. Leave. Leave and try not to come back until he has sorted all his wayward thoughts and start making sense of the world again – a world where he is the star and everyone else is kowtowing to him in complete deference. _Go away. Go away. Go away._ He chants under his breath. _Go the fuck away._

Suddenly, he feels a displacement of air beside him and he jerks in surprise, eyes snapping open and body twisting sideways to face whatever or whoever it is in close proximity. Upon seeing who it is, he mentally throws a tantrum. _Speak of the devil_. Ooshiba’s brows furrow as he takes off his headphones and lets them hang around his neck, towel landing on the grass behind him. “Why are you here? Your adoring fans are over there.” He hooks a thumb above his shoulder in supplication.

Mizuki is sitting cross-legged beside him with a curious look in his eyes. “Fans?” He asks in confusion. “They’re not my fans; they’re part of the team.”

 _Yes. They’re **my** team now. _Ooshiba scowls petulantly, refusing to give in to the scathing retort sweltering in his mind. **_My_** _Seiseki_. “Whatever.” He mutters, turning away. He’s about to put his headphones on again when a strong hand closes around his wrist and effectively stops his movement. Ooshiba grits his teeth in anger, turning toward Mizuki once again with his mouth open, ready to tell him off. However, the roar of ‘leave me alone!’ dies in his throat. There is something strange in his former captain’s expression, as if he’s about to tell him something terribly important – a matter of life and death.

“What?” Ooshiba manages to growl.

Mizuki’s grip tightens. “Help him.”

 “Help who?” By now, he’s annoyed, tired, thirsty, **and** all kinds of confused. Ooshiba is at a loss. Until now, he swears he’s still incapable of fully-understanding Mizuki. He briefly wonders if the discrepancy between their innate geniuses (he believes that great minds think alike) is so high at this point that he still can’t reach him. A sobering notion that provides no consolation.   

“Please help Kimishita.”

 ** _I knew it!_** His inner voice crows in jubilation. There really **is** something wrong with Kimishita. His mind dwells on the frustration upon remembering the peculiar air surrounding his vice-captain and the even more peculiar action of their coach the other day. _But help him with what?_

“Why should I help him?” Ooshiba finally asks, feeling his stomach drop at the sudden widening of Mizuki’s eyes. It is the worst possible way to ask why, he realizes, but he can’t take it back and he’s not the type to elaborate on his words. He speaks his mind and will always convey his thoughts as he thinks them the way they spell out in his head.

Mizuki’s grip loosens and his hands drop on his lap, fingers clutching his jeans at the knees. “Because he needs you.” Comes the answer in a quiet and thoughtful tone. “He needs all the help he can get.”  

Ooshiba’s countenance falters. “It’s that bad?” He asks just as quietly, tilting his head sideways until he could see Kimishita scolding Kurusu and waving shin guards angrily at the corner of his eye.

“It’s that bad.”

He thinks of reasons why his former captain would want him of all people to assist. Ooshiba and Kimishita have a long history of disagreements (bordering on violence) through the years. They’ve been at odds since they were children – longer than their stint at the All-Japan Football Camp during their middle school years. They’ve thrown punches and kicks for decades. They’ve set each other off over the smallest things. They’re not the best of friends, and sometimes, he wonders if they’re even friends at all. They’re reluctant comrades, yes, but friends?

_Probably not._

So… why him?

Ooshiba ticks off those at the top of his head. He’s an extremely talented football star, of course; it might be that Kimishita finally admitted that he’s getting rusty and requires pointers from him to up his game and be a star too (a lesser one compared to him, but still a star. His tutelage would prove his worth as an exceptional player too! A win-win situation!). He’s extremely good-looking too, so maybe Kimishita is in dire need of a makeover. If that’s the case, he is flattered, but his beauty doesn’t come from a bottle so he can’t really help that much in the primping department. He’s extremely magnanimous too – just ask his neighbours. Maybe Kimishita needs a lesson in charm and nobility. That would be difficult since he knows full well the guy doesn’t have a dignified bone in his body. So what?

Then it clicks.     

“It’s financial.” He sighs, pursing his lips in distaste at the quiet assent. There is nothing he detests more than people mooching off him without his approval, and Kimishita is someone with dubious characteristics to even approve. He’s always angry and always, **_always_** , a pain in the butt. “I can’t help him.”

Mizuki gazes at him intensely. “It’s not money.” He reveals. “It’s shelter.”

Now that’s new. Ooshiba blinks twice before turning his entire body toward the other man and scooting forward until their knees touch. “Shelter?” He asks incredulously. “Did people destroy his house? I thought you’re staying there right now?”

Shaking his head, Mizuki leans forward. “He lost his home.” He responds, carefully taking note of the rainbow of expressions that pass through Ooshiba’s face. “He lost the shop as well. To the bank. He has to vacate by the end of the week and I’m staying to help him pack until then.”

 _The end of the week… that’s just a few days away!_ He’s floored. Now Coach Nakazawa’s meeting with Kimishita suddenly makes a whole lot of sense. Why didn’t he say anything to the team? Is it because he thinks they won’t care? _Why didn’t he tell me?!_ He can hear his heart beating loudly and painfully in his chest. Even if they aren’t ‘friends’, he’s still his captain. **_I’m his captain!_ ** How come Mizuki knows but he doesn’t? Does Kimishita think he’s not trustworthy enough? Does he think he would laugh at his misery? He’s not that cruel!

“His relatives can’t accommodate him, and you’re the only one I know who lives alone in a spacious unit.” Mizuki continues. “My place is too far away from here, but it’s better than nothing. Still, he rejected my offer. He… doesn’t want to impose on anyone. He doesn’t want people pitying him either. That’s why Nakazawa-san and I believe you’re the best person to help him out.”

 _Pity, huh_. Even in the direst of times, Kimishita is prideful as hell. _Well, he wouldn’t be him if he’s not the least bit prideful._ Ooshiba muses wryly. Returning his former captain’s gaze with an intense look of his own, he nods in agreement. “Fine.” He says decisively. “If he’s up for it.”

His condo has two bedrooms, and since he’s living alone the other room remains stagnant, collecting dust. He might as well take his vice-captain in. Ooshiba doesn’t know why the bank is repossessing Kimishita’s house and the shop, and where his terminally-ill father is supposed to stay (he’s under the impression that his vice-captain is alone in all of this since Mizuki did not indicate otherwise. Maybe Kimishita’s relatives can only lodge the dad?), but he’s an exceptionally generous guy. Not that he’s tooting his own horn, of course; he’s just stating a glaring fact.

Ooshiba definitely wouldn’t pass up this chance – he’s amazeballs like that.  

Besides, it would mean more opportunities to lord it over him ~~all the time~~ once in a while.  

 

* * *

 

 **TBC**  

 


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7:**

**Compel**

* * *

 

“NO.”

They’re ganging up on him, Kimishita can tell. He just doesn’t know who told Ooshiba that he needs a place to stay as soon as possible. There are two culprits – his coach and Mizuki. Maybe both of them betrayed him.

“There’s no other option left, Kimishita.” Coach Nakazawa intones, gesturing toward the door frantically. “It’s either you stay with Ooshiba or you live in the park. You only have two choices, pick one!”

“… The park… the benches in the common area are uncomfortable, but there’s this spot that’s quiet and –” Mizuki’s eyes glazes over, as if trying to recover a distant memory.  

Nakazawa groans, slapping him on the head with the clipboard Ubukata left after practice. “You’re not helping!”

“Sorry.” Mizuki looks properly chastised, rubbing the offended spot on his head sheepishly. He turns his gaze toward Kimishita and gives him a small encouraging smile.

At that, Kimishita’s eyes widen. _It’s him. **HE** told Ooshiba!_ Horrified, he plasters the back of his hand to his mouth. He doesn’t want to blurt out anything that would make the situation worse than it already is. Between his coach and his friend, he would have thought Nakazawa would crack first. _But no. It had to be him._ His eyes narrow into slits as he glares with his entire being at Mizuki. _Some friend you are!_ He grumbles, seething.

It’s not as if he doesn’t understand where Mizuki’s coming from. There’s a 95% possibility he’s only looking out for him and his welfare. But there’s still that doubtful 5% in place, and since he knows practically all of Kimishita’s reasons on his vehement rejection to bunk with Ooshiba (because he had a moment of idiocy and let the other coax him into telling **_things_** last night), there’s a chance he did it for suspicious reasons.

One example: seeing him lose composure (or whatever’s left of it after associating with simpletons anyway).    

To Kimishita’s unlimited knowledge (borne from undivided ~~obsession over~~ attention to his former captain during his first year in Seiseki) of things Mizuki Hisahito, one of his former captain’s lifelong reasons for living is to keep him on his toes (the rest is all ‘football’ in different languages, he can tell). He knows Kimishita can’t – and won’t – back down from any challenge, pressing him onward so he would be able to grow further than he ever thought possible.

After the overwhelming frustration over Indou’s (the flashy bastard) sense of superiority and Taira’s evil tendencies (the guy’s the son of the devil himself in his opinion) during that fateful game against Saku and Seikan last season, he began a thorough review of his skills to maximize his talents, especially the latent ones. He has succeeded in football matters somewhat, but in other aspects he hasn’t made much progress; most of all in his troublesome relationship with Ooshiba. He gathers that Mizuki is trying to make him understand something important, but true to the older man’s cryptic mind (which he still hasn’t been able to solve entirely… at least he gets the meaning of his long list of unintelligible noises now), it remains a mystery, and Kimishita is stuck in the dark on why he did such thing when specifically told ‘no’.

 _What the fuck is he trying to say? That I won’t survive without help from the idiot prince?!_ Kimishita huffs inwardly, crossing his arms across his chest in a gesture of defiance. _I’m not accepting anything from him! NO!_

“Why? Why don’t you want to live with Ooshiba? He already said it is fine!” Nakazawa groans and turns away, slapping his thigh soundly once before cradling his head in his hands. “You don’t have a problem anymore!”

Perhaps it’s pride that’s preventing him from accepting Ooshiba’s aid; pride over the knowledge that even without all the wealth in the world, he can still live happily with his father. Of course the circumstances are different now, considering he recently lost him. But a good chunk of that pride is still very much present. In fact, it is the only precious thing he currently possesses.  He doesn’t want to be indebted to some rich kid who does not know the essence of hard work and responsibility, even more so Ooshiba, who had done everything possible to rub the disparity between their financial conditions in his face since the day they met (he will forever deny it, but Kimishita knows the truth!). The guy will always be a brat, and he doesn’t want to experience any more of his obnoxiously bratty mocking. Living under one roof will make it worse and to some extent, painful.   

There’s also something else, something that would inevitably unravel once they end up in such close quarters; because even if it’s a 2ldk condominium unit, fact still remains that it’s a relatively small parcel of floor space (Japan is a small country after all) and they would be able to see much of each other every single day.

Kimishita looks away sullenly, focusing on the conference room’s aging podium. _It’s too much to take._ He thinks. An extremely audible sigh intrudes on his musing, and he immediately looks up at Mizuki with a scowl.

“Atsushi.”

He stiffens, seeing Nakazawa swing his gaze between them in surprise and some sort of morbid fascination, when he calls him by his first name. Mizuki only does that when they’re alone, or engaged in a serious one-on-one talk. This does not qualify as a personal conversation – it’s as public as they come, with the coach part of their small huddle and Ooshiba lounging restlessly outside the door. “Don’t call me that.” Kimishita protests, trying to make him take it back and call him by the usual surname, all to no avail.

“Atsushi.” Mizuki repeats. “There’s nothing to worry about, is there? Ooshiba said it is okay. It’s rude not to accept offered help.”

 ** _OFFERED?!_** His arms fall to his sides, hands clenching tightly into fists. “He did **_not_** offer!” He grates out angrily. “You **_asked_** him to and he just said yes for some goddamn reason!”

“He has good intentions, then.” His former captain says calmly. “I asked and he said yes. Permission was granted. It’s all good.”

 _Why are you doing this?!_ Kimishita wants to scream. Had he done so much wrong in his life that he’s being punished so callously? He wants to roar his objections and kick the serene expression off Mizuki’s face; he would have too if he is not so conscious of severing the last of the few remaining bonds he has with others. Colorful epithets dying on his tongue, he squeezes his eyes close and bangs his fist onto the nearest table in violent disapproval.

“Atsushi.”

“Kimishita.”

His eyes snap open, giving both men the most evil glare he could muster. “I already said no.” He mutters angrily through clenched teeth. “I’m done. Leave me alone, both of you.”

Without a second glance, he stalks out the door, ignoring the frantic voices of those he left behind and the brief feeling of intense eyes boring into the back of his skull.

_I’m done._

_I’m so done._

 

**\- - - - - -**

 

Mizuki calls Kimishita in a futile attempt to hold him back. Truth be told, he wanted to grab him and shake earlier until he gets his point; but knowing the younger man, it would have made him angrier.

He knows what it is holding Kimishita back. Of course there is the matter of pride, but the things revealed last night culminated into one glaring reason, which is probably the real debilitating factor in all of this.

Fear.

Kimishita Atsushi is a man who fears many things (of course he will deny it, but Mizuki is sure of it!). He lets it control him and his decisions unknowingly and it paralyzes him. His fear has enough bases if his autobiography is any indication, but from what he understands, it seems all Kimishita has been doing is keeping it at bay instead of nipping it at the bud.

It’s not weakness per se. Mizuki acknowledges that Kimishita is strong in countless ways, considering how he has been living his life; but when it comes to certain matters, he can’t seem to shake off the lurking negativity.

It has been his life’s mission to challenge his friend – he has been doing so since the day he received his pass on their first meeting – and now, Mizuki believes Kimishita needs it most. It’s a matter of life and death.

Literally.

If Kimishita accepts, all’s well; if not, he will end up ruining himself. It is eerily similar to Mizuki’s story when his grandfather died a few years ago, and he knows with absolute surety that he made the right choice in accepting help from others. He shudders to think of an alternate future where he is nothing and no one (because really, what other futures are there?).

“He needs to get over it.”

Startled, Mizuki looks at his former coach questioningly. “Coach?” He asks.

Nakazawa, realizing he uttered his thoughts out loud, gives him a worried glance. “He needs to get over his fear.” He clarifies solemnly, slipping his hands in his pockets. “His father was right, he is afraid of a lot of things.”

 _So, he sees it too – I’m not the only one_. Mizuki nods. “It’s not outright cowardice, but… well, it’s complicated.”

Nakazawa exhales dejectedly.

There’s nothing left to do but talk to Ooshiba after calling it a day. He’ll try again tomorrow… or tonight if Kimishita hasn’t thrown away his things yet, or worse, locked him out of the house. Briefly, he wonders what’s running through the mind of Seiseki’s current captain after having seen his vice-captain storming out of the conference room.

Mizuki bids Nakazawa goodbye with a thoughtful frown and slowly makes his way back to Kimishita’s home, too preoccupied to realize that Ooshiba is already gone.  

 

* * *

 

**TBC**

 

 

* * *

 

_**A/N:** Pardon the lateness, I had to take care of some thesis matters. Thank you for reading! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

**Memoirs**

 

* * *

 

 

Kimishita doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to go home, he doesn’t want to see Mizuki, and he doesn’t want to think about his current reality. It’s not like he’s being petulant because of unnecessary drama. If he wants to be dramatic, he would go straight home, lock Mizuki outside the house, and throw his things out the second floor window as he begs to be let inside. No, this is not a flair for the dramatics. It’s a horrible assessment of what his future would look like living together with someone who had given him so much suffering for years.

Seeing the familiar sight of an abandoned children’s park, he wanders over to the trio of swings and sits on the middle, careful not to overdo it lest the rusty thing comes crashing down from his weight.  _Not like I weigh much anyway_. He mumbles in annoyance, setting his gym bag on the swing to his left. He needs to be careful of his things now more than ever. Cautiously, he pushes himself forward until the swing is moving in a gentle to-and-fro motion. The movement is calming his nerves and soothing his ire, making him feel true peace for the first time in a long while.

He leans his head lightly against one of the suspensions, closing his eyes as he breathes in the fresh early evening air. He feels the hard iron links pushing against his skin but he doesn’t pay it any mind. The comfort clears his head and revives youthful memories when the park was still teeming with laughing children and the arcade in the next block was nonexistent. Very few children play now. Most of them play sports in the comfort of their school gyms, unlike him who learned football from his father in this very same playground when he was old enough to run with a ball without toppling over.

A small smile touches his lips as he remembers the time his father tried teaching him to play baseball as a backup hobby; they tried all playing positions but Kimishita couldn’t find it in him to engage in what he thinks is a boring game. He remembers swinging the bat with all his might and letting go with the childish thought of not seeing even a shadow of it ever again. Unfortunately, it was short (his father said it was as short as he was. How rude, dad) and he didn’t have enough strength, that it hit the hip of a tall imposing man a few feet over.

If that accident didn’t happen, he would never have met Ooshiba too soon. That man was the guy’s father, teaching Ooshiba basic football skills. Of course Kimishita’s father bowed repeatedly as Dr. Ooshiba loomed over him like some horrible doomsday maniac. It wasn’t until the doctor spied him hiding behind his father’s legs in a rare show of terror that the severe expression broke into an amused grin. In a sudden twist of fate, Kimishita senior and Ooshiba senior became fast friends, discussing football and parenting woes, with the doctor calling his son over for introductions.

Kimishita opens his eyes with a frown. He and Ooshiba hit it off right away, or at least he remembers being instantly friends with him. They started calling each other by their first names since day one, and it’s something terribly important to him seeing that he had made whom he thought would be his first ever friend. They were Atchan and Kicchan – friends forever, making a pact. They shared the same passion for football, distaste for baseball, and fatherly adoration.  _But that was then and this is now._ Even at present, he has no recollection of any reason why things would suddenly change. All he knows is that after one year, things were different and he was suddenly unable to play with Ooshiba. He knew for sure that his father and Ooshiba’s father remained friends still, and he remembers all the times he had wanted to know how his friend was but chickening out in the end. Maybe he did something wrong, Kimishita remembers wondering, and he racked his brains for days trying to find something negative between them but he couldn’t think of any. Soon, he stopped speculating and just left it as it was, considering the lack of action on Ooshiba’s part as well.   

The next time they met was after years of non-contact, in a middle school football game. Their schools were famed prefecture rivals, and both were playing as the only first-year forwards. It was a battle; Kimishita’s green to Ooshiba’s blue, uniforms clashing in a similar quest for victory. Eventually, his assist to his upperclassman decided the game and the green team won. He remembers wandering over to the blue side to at least greet his old (and frankly, only) ‘friend’ and maybe catch up, but the look of pointed disdain on the other boy’s features as he opened his mouth to call him by name stopped him cold. It was something he had never seen before on the usually perky face.

It took a few moments before it sunk in that he couldn’t have his old friend back, so instead of bringing in the nostalgic feelings, he decided to start over and treat him in a similar manner. Just as he disliked hearing and seeing other people talk down on his father through the years, he hated being treated the same way. He was proud of his father and proud of what he had accomplished through years of hardship and sacrifice – nobody had the right to cast them aside like insignificant beings. They may not be VIPs as far as society was concerned, but they were honest, hardworking people, and that was all that mattered. ‘Kiichi!’ He remembers calling out in the most annoyed voice he could muster. ‘Being all clean while your teammates are caked with dirt and sweat is shameful!'

Ooshiba’s eyes widened then and without warning, approached him swinging. ‘What the – I’m playing beautiful football, asshole!’ He shot back angrily. It connected, and for a brief moment, Kimishita thought the sun was forcibly snuffed out. It was the first time anyone physically hurt him; usually they stay away the minute they see the scowl on his face. He shook his head to clear it and despite his aching cheek and the ringing in his ears, he straightened and kicked as hard as he could. Soon, they came to successive blows; kicking, punching, and screaming, until their respective teams managed to break them apart.

It was laughable, that fateful meeting; and a part of him now wishes it never happened. Such manner was deplorable, if his father’s scolding and subsequent grounding were any indication. He pondered over possible scenarios… that if he disregarded Ooshiba’s expression, or if he didn’t say anything at all and kept the status quo of their relationship, they could have started on a better note next time they met. But then again, considering the person Ooshiba had become, it would have been impossible. Kimishita made sure to watch all his games so he could grasp the changes in him. He made sure their rivalry would push them forward and together, especially when they both ended up in the All-Japan meet in Tokyo. He had personally seen enough of his games that he knew the clinical nature of Ooshiba’s techniques, something he respected since it was so different from his own situational methods. He played with him and against him, trying to point out his faults every single time, and gratified to see him improve bit by bit even if they’ve started to regard each other as their personal ‘nemesis’.  After all, it was the one thing he knew he owed to someone who claimed the title of being his first ‘friend’, no matter how short-lived. Atonement for being unable to instigate contact and giving up during those long years apart, even if logically, he knew it wasn’t his sole fault.

Staring at his sneakers, Kimishita cups his hands around his mouth and blows on them before rubbing them together for warmth. It’s getting colder and his exhaustion over the altercation this afternoon is worming its way into his system. He suddenly wants to go home and crash, but he doesn’t want to move from his seat. The gentle motion of the swing is lulling him into a sense of security he currently needs. If only he could just stay out here and forget the world exists; but it doesn’t work that way. He still has his lodging concerns after all. He is about to get up (with absolute reluctance) and go straight home to make sure Mizuki doesn’t break into the house (thinking something stupid like some burglar tying him up inside), when he feels another presence behind him. He automatically stills and holds his breath. It isn’t until a familiar scent of cologne wafts toward him that he lets it out and slumps forward in slight relief.

“What do you want, Kiichi?”

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

 

There are some things that he wishes Kimishita would clarify; for instance, his recent lapses into long bouts of silence with an air of defeat, or those times he seems to forget where he is until Nakijin touches his shoulder to catch his attention. As far as he can remember, Kimishita has always been a focused individual; easy to rile just as he is easy to please (though he would probably never admit it).

Ooshiba, even as a captain, does not know what to do. There is something wrong, and he gathers it’s entirely connected to the other man’s loss of property. He doesn’t have the full picture yet, but he knows it’s a huge thing, something that could determine Kimishita’s future. Out of the goodness of his heart (of course, what else could it be?) he has agreed on letting him in his pad, and in likewise, his life. But if what happened earlier is any indication, it seems his vice-captain is not too keen on the idea.

Honestly speaking, it’s a good deal. His current home has more than enough space for two. Yes, they would probably be in each other’s faces and he would definitely need to adjust to living with another human being 24/7, but surely it isn’t so bad. Well, they’ve been adversaries for the longest time, but that doesn’t excuse the lack of logic in Kimishita’s recent decisions. And to think Ooshiba has always thought of him as the pragmatic kind.

It’s not as if he’s offended. In fact, it would be better for them not to be around each other for long periods of time, seeing as it has already become a habit for them to either bicker or physically fight. He knows it full well, but something inside him crumpled when he heard Kimishita yell his rejection earlier. Then, Ooshiba is back to wondering… if cohabitation would really be so bad.

He doesn’t know if it’s divine providence that gave this opportunity, but it didn’t take any effort for his parents to agree to his sharing rooms with Kimishita. He called his father immediately after he agreed to his former captain’s request, and the instant answer was a resounding “Of course!”. He has been living alone for three months now, and all those times before this, his parents (particularly his father) don’t want him bring people they don’t know inside the unit. It was a surreal experience, hearing his father exclaim (he’s not the excitable type too, which makes it even weirder) his assent, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world – as if he was asking him why it even requires permission.

Basically, everyone except Kimishita is not welcome, and that’s special treatment in Ooshiba’s book.

He lets out a puff of breath as he walks along the deserted street, trying to look for the one person he has been following for quite a while now (he did not lose him, he just decided to look in the other direction purely out of curiosity). He wants answers, and he wants them now, or else he would lose precious beauty sleep and that just won’t do.

It doesn’t take long until he sees a slight figure in the park across the street. The area is dimly-lit, but he knows it is Kimishita sitting almost tiredly in one of the swings. He can recognize that back anywhere. The movement is almost hypnotic and it takes some will power for him to finally rouse himself from staring at the repetitive motion, enough to look see if anyone’s around. He has a feeling that once confronted, there’s a good chance Kimishita would bite back and it would be a huge mess as usual. Less bystanders, less casualties.

The usual impertinence is gone from the other man’s posture, prompting a wave of worry out to wash over him. He swallows thickly, wondering if it’s a wise choice to go ahead and talk to Kimishita or if it would be better to leave it off until tomorrow. No, he’s not afraid. It’s just that this feeling in the pit of his stomach is urging the fight or flight response out of him. As to why, he has no idea at all, and it's confusing. Why is he so invested in Kimishita anyway? It has always been like this since the day they first met on that fateful game day in middle school.

He hadn’t made a goal then, something he took personally since everyone built him up to be this up-and-coming football hero. From the start of the game, he had been matched up with a younger Kimishita – a shorter, slighter, boy. Of course he took it as an insult. From his younger years, he had always been tall, something everyone equated to power. But there he was, being marked by someone waifish. Still, he remembers the sudden nostalgic feeling that invaded his senses… as if at some point in his past, they had already met. It bothered him so much that he lost the opportunity to score the first chance he got... and the next ones after that. Kimishita ended up outplaying him with his footwork and assessment skills despite the lack of chances (Ooshiba made sure of it, his defense was solid) to score. As if he was not a striker at all. It was an unforgivable feat for Ooshiba, something he detested with all his heart and swore never to do again. Distractions are evil; they prevent him from being a superstar, and thus must be discarded. Needless to say, his team lost.

He took it personally, of course. Who wouldn’t? Ooshiba remembers fighting the urge to throw a tantrum just as the team was exiting the field. He spotted Kimishita who, for some reason, was wandering toward their end of the field with an excited look on his face. Grimacing inwardly at the other boy’s audacity to taunt him with his presence after playing a horrible game, he glared with all the ill-feelings he could muster; if looks could kill, Kimishita would have been already dead. Ooshiba still remembers the play of emotions that flashed across Kimishita’s face, and he felt a pinch in his gut in response. He would have turned away too if it hadn’t been for that acrimonious stream of words that came out of the boy’s mouth, rubbing the salt in his already festering wound of defeat. Worse, he called him by his first name, as if he was familiar with him, singling him out of the twenty or so people in blue uniforms as if he’s the one at fault for the team’s loss.

Ooshiba was trying to play beautiful football, the solid, technical kind his father taught him. His father wanted to be a football star in his youth, but had to let go of the dream to succeed as the owner and director of the prefecture’s most advanced hospital. He wanted to live his father’s dream, and share part of it with him when he finally makes it to the top – a hero. So of course he swung! He was still hurting, and here this person was, being overly-familiar and calling him out for something he takes so much pride in, a beautiful technique, being a child of one of the most important people in their community.

It was a terrible affair, hitting and getting hit in return. Still, he remembers being surprised that someone significantly shorter than him could hit so accurately and painfully. It took a long time before they were separated. His father scolded him afterward (even snickering when he learned of the shorty who didn’t back away), of course, and his coach benched him in the next couple of games, but that was it and he was thankful.

Interest piqued, he asked one of their hired help to catch Kimishita’s games on video. He watched them almost obsessively, wondering what made the other tick. Currently, he dislikes the fact that even with his technical play; it looks as if Kimishita’s movements are still more beautiful than his (especially his free kicks). Even more so then. However, with the displeasure came grudging respect. He acknowledged that Kimishita knows football inside out and he wouldn’t mind playing with him again as long as he didn’t get in his way. During the All-Japan camp in Tokyo, he became the unwilling recipient of Kimishita’s tutelage, and no matter how much he detested it, they did help once he figured things out. Then Seiseki happened.

Now, here they are.

 _Why am I being subjected to this torture?_ Ooshiba groans inwardly, rubbing his head in annoyance.  _Why can’t he just say yes so we can all move on?_  If he can have it his way, he would just shake Kimishita until he says yes. Now it feels like he’s all excited to have them live together even though he’s not.  _I’m **not**_. He mutters to himself, rearranging the strap of his sports bag to ease its pinch on his shoulder and hurriedly crossing the street. Carefully, he makes his way to Kimishita, wary of the sound his steps made. He doesn’t want to spook him after all – the guy sprints really fast, way faster than him. Then all the effort he has put into looking for him (but he didn't lose him, he just let him loose for a while, that's it) would evaporate.

Slowly, he approaches, eyes trained on Kimishita’s sagging figure. It calls out to his soft side, he has to admit, seeing him this troubled, but he can’t afford to waste time. It’s less than one week before the deadline. He doesn’t want a homeless vice-captain in his conscience (yes he has one, despite what Kazama insists, the fucking liar) forever. He reaches for Kimishita’s head and is about to touch it when the other slumps forward with an audible sigh.

“What do you want, Kiichi?”

"Holy crap, do you have ESP or something?!" Ooshiba’s heart almost leaps out of his throat, and his very vivid imagination paints it almost comically. A small bubble of amusement at the mental picture tries to rise up his throat but he squashes it down. It’s not the time for such things. This is serious business. “You need a place to live in less than a week.” He starts gruffly; slipping both hands in his pockets so as not to throttle him in the middle of what he surmises would be another argument. “But you’re refusing my offer.”

He feels rather than sees Kimishita bristle, but he remains silent, frustrating Ooshiba further. With a derisive snort, he moves toward the last empty swing and promptly squeezes himself into it, ignoring the pained squeak as it bears his weight. “Is it so bad, living with me?” He starts, turning to Kimishita with an intense gaze.

Kimishita glares at him, their eyes meeting in the dim light briefly, before awkwardly looking away. “Yeah.” He admits quietly. “Yeah, it is.”

“What –  **why**?!” Ooshiba’s eyes narrow into slits, recoiling defensively. “I’m perfect!”

“That’s exactly why.”

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

 

Kimishita snorts at the small sound of protest from Ooshiba. “I don’t want to be indebted to someone like you.” He murmurs. “I’d rather find lodging elsewhere.”

“Someone like me?!”

 “You live a perfect life, play a perfect game with perfect techniques, you follow instructions perfectly and never forget anything unless you deem them immaterial.” He nods absently. “You’re perfectly suited to be a football icon. That’s why I don’t want to be indebted to someone like you.”

For once, Ooshiba is quiet, prompting him to chuckle. “Careful, your head’s expanding.” He lets out a huge breath, a small smile stealing onto his lips. “It feels like pity among other things.” He gives him a sidelong glance. “Is it? Pity?”

“Not really.” Comes Ooshiba’s response. “It’s more like I’m worried. Curious too.”

It’s perplexing, the unbidden feeling of excitement erupting in Kimishita’s heart (yes he has one, despite what the idiot Kurusu says). “Worried and curious?” He allows after a few moments, letting the other man’s words sink in. “Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s not like you to be so irrational and all.” Ooshiba starts, his tone deep and thoughtful. “I mean, you’re the type that always does what’s best in any situation, but right now, you’re being an idiot, y’know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh’. It’s weird as fuck, man.” The Ooshiba gives him an unreadable look, as if he wants to say something but suddenly decides against it and focuses on moving the swing forward. “Look, I already know I’m perfect,  **you**  know I’m perfect, you said so yourself. So why couldn’t you live with someone perfect? Do you think you’re so inferior that you can’t even be around me? It’s just a year anyway from what Mizuki-san told me. Short time.”

 _A year, just like when we were kids._  Kimishita wants to laugh at the irony. Honestly, it’s not the perfection itself that troubles him enough to reject the offer. He knows his own adaptability is superior to Ooshiba’s, and that adaptability would simply turn into attachment, like what happened with Mizuki. However, he also recognizes that Ooshiba is no Mizuki. They are two very different people, and there’s a good chance the type of attachment wouldn’t end up being the same. Right now, he can categorically admit that he cannot understand Mizuki most of the time. He always defies expectations. Ooshiba on the other hand, has an air of predictability. Kimishita often knows exactly what’s going on in his mind that sometimes it scares him.

 _Kiichi, you never forget anything unless you deem it immaterial._  Kimishita’s thoughts ring, all panicked, in his head.  _After a year, we will graduate. I can’t help but wonder if you will forget me again._  Ooshiba’s main driving force is pain, despite what everyone (and even Ooshiba himself) says. Once he works hard for something, he never forgets it; instead, he will make sure it becomes part of his life for good. It’s what football is to him. His father trained him since he was a child, and he has never forgotten anything and everything Kimishita points out even if it's in passing. He doesn’t see academics as relevant in his goal to become a star pro-football player so he churns out bad grade after bad grade. This is the last year they’re going to work together in Seiseki, and then they will part ways. If he accepts and lives with Ooshiba in that same time frame, what would happen afterward? After all, when one reads into the other man’s words, he knows his relevance only extends to his current football matches. Right now he’s a teammate, a school-football archrival, and a vice-captain. In one year, that will change.

He can’t risk it.  

“What are you so afraid of?” Ooshiba asks quietly, their gazes meeting and holding.

Above everything else, Kimishita is afraid of abandonment.

His mother left him, his relatives don’t want him, his father died, leaving him behind, and Ooshiba already forgot about him once…  _Enough._ He muses forlornly.  _It’s enough._

Covering his burgeoning negative emotions, he snorts. “Nothing.” He retorts, schooling his tone back to its usual cynical sound. “I just don’t want you and your ‘perfect’ self around me all the time. You’ll be insufferable for sure.”

“Hey! You're the insufferable one!” Ooshiba sputters in protest, extending a leg to kick Kimishita. However, the awkward movement jostles his seat enough that it finally gives, one of the suspension links snapping under his weight. “Ow!” He intones, blinking repeatedly as he finds himself on the ground with his hands grasping parts of a broken swing.

It is completely unexpected, and soon, Kimishita slides to a low squat next to a startled Ooshiba with a hand on his mouth, body wracked in silent laughter.

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

 

“Not funny!” Ooshiba gripes, trying to stand up by himself and groaning as his hand broke another piece of the previously broken iron link. “C’mon, help me up!”

Kimishita’s cold hands grip his forearm and haul him up. They’re trembling, obviously from laughter. In his entire life, he has never heard the other man laugh openly. Although times like this are gold to him, knowing that yes, his vice-captain  **can**  actually laugh, he still wants to listen to his laughter. Just once would be great.

“Ha-ha. You’ve had your laugh, so quit it already.” He growls in embarrassment, slapping the back of Kimishita’s head. “You’ll get gas!”

“Hey!” Kimishita hiccups quietly, trembling receding somewhat as he tries to slap his head back, only for him to dodge out of the way. “Stay still!”

“No. It’s gonna hurt! I’m hurting all over already!” Ooshiba huffs; dusting the seat of his pants.  _Good thing they didn’t tear._ He glances at the other man, and finds him still trying to control the remnants of his amusement. Rolling his eyes, he steps around him and grabs Kimishita’s gym bag from the other swing. “C’mon, let’s get you home!”

Shaking his head, Kimishita swallows the last of his mirth and grins crookedly at Ooshiba. “Nah, s’fine. I can get home by myself.” He tries to grab his bag but fails as his captain slings it on his other shoulder and starts ahead, strides deliberately long and quick.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” Ooshiba tilts his head to one side, gesturing for him to follow. He hears Kimishita’s footsteps behind, light and almost nonexistent, but soon the other falls into step beside him. The gravity of Kimishita’s problem and the underlying reasons remain completely unresolved. They seem to be extremely personal, if the choice words and the long moments of thoughtful  **desolate**  silence during their talk were anything to go by.

“Kimishita.” Ooshiba breaks the silence that settled quite uncomfortably between them. “Just think about it. Real hard.”

It takes a few moments before Kimishita finally responds, the answer vague but still managing to somewhat calm his nerves.

“I will.”  

This time, it isn't a 'no'.

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

 

By the time they arrive at Kimishita’s house, they find Mizuki flopped haphazardly next to the door, drooling in his sleep.

He and Ooshiba end up snickering, waking their former captain and listening to his sleepy complaints as he unlocks the front door.

* * *

 

 

**TBC**

 


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE:**

**Force**

* * *

 

His shooting is as sharp as ever, and it seems as if there's nothing amiss, but Ooshiba knows it’s far from the truth. Tomorrow is the deadline, and Kimishita still stubbornly refuses to live with him; even more so now than before. The coach finally cracked and informed the entire team of their vice-captain’s immediate plight.

Of course Kimishita is furious – who wouldn’t be when their explicit instruction is defied so deliberately? But then again, Ooshiba thinks that it’s the right thing to do. His vice-captain needs all the help he can get; that much he agrees with Mizuki. He and his previous captain had a private talk before the latter went back to his J-League team’s dormitory, reminding him to be sensitive enough to Kimishita’s feelings.  

_Feelings huh._ He thinks bemusedly. What feelings? It’s not like they’re best friends or something. There’s no point in pussyfooting around someone who knows he’s in dire straits and yet won’t budge when presented with the most practical solution to his problem on the face of the earth. _I don’t fucking care about the idiot’s feelings about his housing woes – he just needs to live somewhere until he can stand on his own two feet._ He grits his teeth in annoyance, snorting as he approaches Kimishita’s end of the field.

Nobody offered their place to their vice-captain since they’re all living with their parents, except for Tsukamoto who was obviously sweating from nervousness while saying his place may be okay if his mother says it is. Kimishita, predictably, shoots it down harshly, reminding the boy of his primary duty to his parent. Ooshiba thinks it’s possible for him to stay there, but somehow, he’s relieved that the other turned it down instantly. With Kimishita’s temperament, he won’t be able to live in a place where he needs to watch his mouth all the time anyway. _Only father could love._ He snickers inwardly, but instantly sobers up when he remembers his private conversation with Mizuki about the death of Kimishita's father. _It’s a good thing coach just mentioned the housing thing and nobody asked a lot of questions. One less drama for this guy._

He can see their regular goalkeeper, Nakajin, trembling with something akin to fear (but not quite) as he waits for another kick. He has a feeling that it’s not from morbid fascination at all, considering Kimishita’s penchant for making unorthodox shots that come from the most unexpected of directions. It’s a skill Ooshiba knows he can’t copy, and he resents the other for it somewhat. It would be a wonderful addition to his arsenal, but he knows it’s impossible without exhaustive practice sessions late into the night. Daily. For ten fucking years straight. _I’m not an idiot. I know my limits._ He muses. _Maybe in ten years, but not now._

Heaving a great breath, he stops and waits until the balls are lined up straight; before Kimishita’s shot disappears into the goal. Ten balls and Seiseki’s vice-captain manages to get four no-touches and one touch in. Nakajin fights hard and saves four cleanly, with one near-miss, something Ooshiba respects knowing how diverse the shots are. He spots the tremor of exhaustion shaking the younger man’s frame upon sight of Kimishita taking out more balls from the bin. But since he’s a magnanimous captain, he decides to take pity on him. “Nakajin, take a water break!” He calls out, hooking a thumb toward the bleachers.

He sees Kimishita stiffen for a moment before resuming, lining the balls straight, this time nearer the goalkeeper-less goal. “Oi, doofus.” Ooshiba calls him casually, brows rising slightly when instead of turning to him the other prepares to make the first shot. “Hey, idiot.” He tries again, but the swish of the net is his only answer. He clicks his tongue as he watches shot after successful shot, until he decides enough is enough and runs to the goalpost, facing the other’s quiet wrath with his hands spread wide as if to block the next shot. He sees his vice-captain’s eyes narrow, twin balls of fire seemingly spitting silent but deadly expletives. _If looks could kill._

A ball whizzes by the side of his face, the rush of wind ruffling his auburn hair as he stands his ground firmly, an immovable wall, waiting for the other to deal his best shot. A part of him wonders why they aren’t touching his body when he’s right there; an obstacle, right smack in the middle, to be overcome. Kimishita knows Ooshiba has no capacity to block his shots, and yet.

_And yet_.

Their gazes meet as the last projectile goes soaring through the air, sliding sideways as if to hit the left post. On cue, his body involuntarily shifts leftward and his arm reaches for it. The ball hits his wrist, dead center on his pulse, and ricochets back to the other end of the field, away from where both of them stood shell-shocked into complete breathless silence. Neither of them moves, gazes still interlocking, as they process what had just transpired.

_And yet._

“I win.” He finally declares, straightening from his awkward position after a long heavily-charged moment. “I finally caught you.” A slow grin creeps into his face, eyes sparkling with ill-concealed pride. A look of confusion flashes through Kimishita’s eyes before recognition dawns and his jaws drop from shock.    

“The fuck was that. It… it doesn’t count! It's a one-time thing!” Seiseki’s vice-captain stammers to cover his astonishment. Ooshiba chuckles as he saunters casually toward him, noticing the small step backward as he approaches. “I can’t believe you still –“

“Still remember?” He stops before him, towering almost ominously but with a mischievous smile on his face. “Of course I do. How could I forget?” During their middle school, when Kimishita’s team lost to his in a friendly football match, Ooshiba gloated knowing he scored a goal right under the other’s nose. The furious firebrand marched over to him, kicking him in the shin and toppling him over as ugly tears streamed down his eyes and snot from his nose. Kimishita screamed bloody murder then, growling at Ooshiba that he will never be able to steal a ball or stop him when he’s in possession ever again. “It has been one of my goals for a long while now.”

The expression on Kimishita’s face is unreadable, and for once in his life (who is he kidding, it’s **all the time** ) Ooshiba wishes that he can decipher each and every passing emotion on his face. He fancies the wide eyes signifying astonishment, the drain of colour from his usually rose-touched cheeks is shock, and the gaping lips –

_They look soft._ Comes the brief observation. _Too bad it’s so filthy. Unlike my mine. Mine are perfectly golden._ Still, he has to stamp the urge to touch them just to see if they are as soft as they look. Before, he usually dismissed them as dry, but today is different for some reason. Today, he is looking at them properly and noticing they’re more different than he initially perceived. His fingers twitch restlessly, and in an instinct for self-preservation, he ends up covering this unforeseen fascination with a brighter, more arrogant grin. He makes a show of tossing his head high enough that his nose is upturned, as if looking down on his vice-captain.

The effect is instantaneous; in the blink of an eye, his head is whipped sideways by a kick to the head. Eyes sharpening as he fights the stinging pain, he swung and feels his fist connect with Kimishita’s cheek with a satisfying thwack.

Their regularly-scheduled brawl has started.   

**\- - - - - - - -**

By the time the rest of the team manages to pull them apart, they are both sporting scattered bruises and split lips. They are made to sit on separate benches in the locker room, far from each other’s reach. As usual, they received a droning lecture from coach Nakazawa, and as usual, it was in one ear and out the other. It’s easier that way… and less stressful.

As if he needs more stress bothering him. Kimishita is enough. Any more and his head will implode. With quick jerky movements, Ooshiba takes out his headphones before stuffing his practice uniform in his bag and zipping it soundly close. He needs to fill his head with things other than his vice-captain’s misplaced stubbornness, and music is the best filler available. He needs to listen to something other than his inner voices that seem to be extremely active when dealing with unnecessary trouble.

He puts them on, gets up, and settles in a corner, closing his eyes as he lets the stream of sound filter into his ears while leaning heavily against the wall. He takes a bit of solace from the cold stone sticking to his back, and does his best to relax. Soon, the excited voices around him start to fade one by one until it becomes dead silent shortly. He presumes that he’s finally alone with only his thoughts for company, an extremely welcome notion.

Truth be told, he’s not someone who likes taking on responsibility. In fact, being a captain of such an unruly bunch of idiots has been a taxing affair, and he still has the rest of the year to be their leader. _I’m great. I’m sure it will become easier over time._ He muses. _In the next couple of weeks, I bet they’d be worshipping the ground I walk on, on a regular basis._ All except Kimishita… definitely. He knows the other has no inclination whatsoever to do such thing especially with the entire burden he’s carrying. The only chance the other would switch his stand would be when he becomes his hero.

Idly, Ooshiba wonders what Kimishita would be like when he’s more agreeable. Would he be the praising type or the reluctant blushing guy often depicted in manga? Would his tone soften or would it be more excitable in conversations? Would he stop picking fights with him and do whatever he wants him to without question? There are endless possibilities and Ooshiba can’t help but imagine each and every one of them. He knows for sure that there is another side to Kimishita he rarely sees. It’s the one never directed at him, but at some point evident in the presence of Mizuki and even the insolent brat Kazama. He stretches his legs with a sigh. _Hurry up and become the best, Ooshiba Kiichi, so you’ll know._ He reminds himself. _Become his hero so he wouldn’t find fault with you ever again._ It’s not as if he’s doing everything because of Kimishita. He just wants his vice-captain to be proud of what he has achieved over the years. He was the one who told Ooshiba long ago that he has limitless potential in football, and he doesn’t want such expectations to dwindle in any way. It may be that Kimishita’s part of it, but certainly not completely. He gathers, if the guy thinks it, then everyone must be doing the same.

_Maybe._

One thing he knows for sure is that being a hero makes him important, and important people are considered stars shining brightly down on unsightly commoners below. The idea of being amazing and acknowledged at one particular sport is, in his mind, the best thing one can get out of life. He understands that he’s not the best at academics (but he’s not as stupid as Kimishita thinks he is, thank you very much – he can take him on any way and he’s not afraid after finally memorizing his tables last year) like his parents or his older sister, but football is something new, refreshing, and vigorous – something that would make him an exceptional individual in his family tree.

A small smile graces his lips at the thought, opening his eyes and focusing on the potted plant resting beside the one of the lockers. _Now if only the idiot would cooperate._ He notes wryly. _Maybe I need to pound some sense into him so he’d give._

Ooshiba stands up and brushes the seat of his shorts.

_Gotta hurry, time’s a-wasting._

**\- - - - - -**

He’s half-expecting Kimishita to be home at this time, but part of him wanted to see him elsewhere. It’s probably because home at the moment would be gone by tomorrow, and seeing him there while wandering inside the shop is difficult to swallow after all these years of such familiar motion. Ooshiba holds his breath as he rounds the block hoping that the worst picture in his mind wouldn’t be what he’d find. He takes a deep preparatory breath before peeking around the corner, eyes latching onto the dark windows of the Kimishita household.

A sigh of relief escapes his lips, but is soon replaced with choking helplessness when he spies his vice-captain sitting at the bottom step of the stairs leading to the second floor. The stairway is adhered to the side of the house, and Kimishita is leaning on the shingle wall with his arms around his folded knees, forehead resting on them as if asleep. He looks completely miserable, and for the first time in his privileged life, Ooshiba finds it in himself to sympathize with all his heart.

He fidgets, quite unsure on what to do, eyes scanning his surroundings to note whether people notice. Seeing that virtually no one is around, he decides to move closer and wake the other up. He rationalizes his burgeoning feelings as the recognition that he team needs Kimishita for his kicking and passing talents and it just won’t do for him to get sick at this point in time. After all, Ooshiba needs him fully-functioning during competitions or his legacy as a captain won’t be complete.  _Yeah right. Delude yourself, why don't you?_

“Oi, shithead.”

There is no response, not even an inch of movement. Briefly, he wonders if Kimishita is indeed asleep; if he is, such a deep sleep it must be. “Oi.” He nudges the other’s foot with his, but there is no response either. He inwardly debates whether it would help to just haul the guy up and shake him to submission, but decides against it, opting to climb up the stairs to the Kimishita household and rattle the door open. He wonders if it’s locked, but finds it open instead, the door ajar by the time he touches it. Alarmed, he immediately stomps his way down, standing before his vice-captain with resolve.

“Get up.” He growls, earning a slight flinch from his uncharacteristically hard tone. _So, you really **are** ignoring me, you fucking idiot. _ Ooshiba has no time to play games. He has to get Kimishita to accept his graciousness and deal with whatever repercussions would arise in the future. “Get up.” He repeats, gritting his teeth as the other continues to remain unresponsive. “ **Get. Up**.” He gripes, stooping low to grasp Kimishita by the arm and hauling him to his feet forcibly. He glares at him, eyes peering into his face, expression obscured by disheveled chestnut hair. “Why the hell are you being so difficult?” Ooshiba shakes him in annoyance.

At that, Kimishita looks up, eyes spitting fire. “Oh I’m sorry, **_your highness_**. I will be officially homeless by tomorrow. I’m sick and tired of explaining myself in midst of the pity party after everyone got wind of my slew of problems, so **_excuse me_** for being difficult!”   

Ooshiba purses his lips angrily. “You’re troubling everyone.”

“Nobody would be troubled if Nakazawa-san didn’t say anything.” Kimishita glares at him just as angrily.

He grabs his other arm leans forward to meet his flashing gaze head-on. “Not because of that, you fucking **_idiot_**.” He gives him another short, but forceful shake, careful not to rattle him too much lest he really loses the last vestiges of brain matter he has left. Heaven knows his vice-captain needs more of it right now when he's being an irrational ass. “Everyone wants to help you in some way, but you keep insisting you don’t need any!”

“Oh, c’mon, you saw their faces, Kiichi. Don’t tell me you think they honestly want to help?” Kimishita snorts. “Besides, I don’t need anyone’s **_pity_**. I can’t be indebted to anyone. I can survive alone.”

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, Kimishita.” Ooshiba sighs, head drooping tiredly. “It’s not that they don’t want to help you, they’ve always been afraid of you since you’re the monster lurking in their football dreams. Are you seriously telling me that everyone who protested against my captaincy hates you?”

“Their faces earlier spoke volumes.”

“Have you ever thought that they felt helpless? They don’t have any idea how to help you, and then you had to shoot their ideas and talk them down. They must be feeling even worse afterward; Coach Nakazawa, Mizuki-san, Nakajin, Kurusu, – even the brat Kazama and weakling Bakamoto!”

Ooshiba watches the play of emotions on Kimishita’s face, wondering if perhaps he has finally reached him. The planes flatten into a quietly searching look, and the fire in his eyes subsides into grief… and something else he cannot name. “And you.”

“And me.”

He feels a sense of déjà vu. He wonders if this is the same as when Kimishita asked before on whether or not it’s pity driving him to help. For the most part, he’s offended. _Am I really that much of a monster in your eyes, idiot?_ It makes him want to squeeze some sense into the other’s fluffy head.

Kimishita closes his eyes with a sigh, sagging until Ooshiba wonders if he would fall bonelessly onto the ground if he lets his arms go. He feels as heavy as the burdens plaguing him. “I don’t understand you.”

“Hmm? What’s there to understand? I mean, I’m perfect, so yeah. Just think of perfection and I’m it. No need to nitpick.” Ooshiba frowns, shoulders relaxing without relinquishing his hold. “Besides, it’s an opportunity to convert you so you’d finally become one of my minions.”

There’s a sense of relief when Kimishita chuckles incredulously. “Minion, you say. Eh. You wish.” He scoffs. “So that’s your version of ‘worried’ and ‘curious’, huh.”

“Oh, you’ll accept it eventually. It’s only natural to adore the Great Me. I’m extremely lovable; unlike you.” Ooshiba grins slowly, canines standing out in harsh relief like a mischievous little boy. “So it’s more like we both need this cohabitation thing. You need shelter and I need to change your fucking stubborn mind about the finer points of my shining personality.”

“You sure are spouting a lot of big words today. I hope your brain is not close to atrophying and this is its last hurrah.” Kimishita grins back awkwardly, expression still a little bit troubled. “And for your information, I won’t be changing my mind anytime soon.”

“You will. Trust me.” Ooshiba counters confidently. "I also don’t know what ‘atrophying’ means, but I have this feeling you just insulted me. **_However_** , I’m gonna let it go if you agree to my request.” They stare at each other for a few moments before erupting into amused chortling.

“You’re not gonna leave me alone about this, aren’t you?”

“Nope.” He then takes his hands off Kimishita’s arms and slips them into his pockets, a good-natured smile on his face as he regards his shorter companion quite fondly. “Never.”  

It takes a long moment of silence before Kimishita finally nods, quietly and agreeably (for the first time ever too if he may add). “Fine.” He murmurs. “I’ll live with you.”

The smile on Ooshiba’s face widens instantly. “Whoa. I seem to be winning a lot today. That’s twice already, Kimishita.” _Huuuuge_ _achievement! Oye!_ He wants to hug him and celebrate. _My Powers of Persuasion are strong! Hoo-hah!_

His vice-captain whacks him on the forehead with the palm of his hand in retaliation before turning around and climbing up the stairs with a scoff. “Whatever, jerk.”   

The feeling of elation at accomplishing what feels like an insurmountable task overrides Ooshiba’s need to snap and sass. His mood lightens as his eyes follow Kimishita’s ascent. There is something resembling excitement moving deep within his guts. Now he has someone to talk to before bed. Maybe watch movies with or bicker with to counter the dead silence of his condo unit. His mind wanders, imagining scenarios of pure domesticity and possibly way better food than he is capable of making, now that Kimishita will be his roommate.

“Kiichi.”

Hearing the other’s quiet voice snaps him out of his reverie and he tilts his head questioningly, making a small noise of acknowledgement. “What?” He notices the awkward fidgeting and his mind floods with a thousand quips, but lets it go. They’re having a moment after all.

“Thanks.” Kimishita turns to him with a small smile before opening the door and slipping smoothly inside.

To say that Ooshiba’s pleased is an understatement; Kimishita rarely thanks him, but when he does, it’s always during the darnedest circumstances. With a warm feeling spreading in his gut, he turns and walks away, a slight skip in his step.

_You’re welcome._

* * *

 

 

**TBC**

 

 

 

 

 

       

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness. I was buried under a mountain of paperwork and couldn't think of anything else for weeks. Haha. I hope you enjoyed this part. Finally, Kimishita. Finally.
> 
> PS: Animated Kimishita is darling! ♥


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN:**

**Camaraderie**

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s too early to look at your ugly mug. Go away.”

Despite receiving his most evil glare, Kazama continues flashing a mischievous grin, completely unperturbed. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“What the hell are you doing here anyway?” Kimishita mutters, finally giving in and letting Kazama slip inside the house. “It’s dawn and I absolutely have no plans on entertaining your shenanigans.”

“Oh, how hurtful, senpai~” The younger man motions to the boxes piled up in the middle of the living room. “And here I am, letting you use my humble self as a manservant for the entirety of this day~!”

“Day, my ass. The sun isn’t even up yet.” Kimishita slaps the back of the younger man’s head soundly, earning him a playful giggle hidden behind a coquettish hand. He rolls his eyes, and stomps toward his bedroom to change out of his pyjamas.

There is a flurry of sounds in the living room as Kazama starts hauling boxes closer to the front door, something Kimishita frowns upon, knowing that ‘hauling’ in Kazama Terms means dragging unceremoniously. The kid has always been partial to shortcuts when it comes to practical work after all, he muses wryly. He lifts the hem of his pyjama top and tugs it off, shivering slightly as the dawn breeze wafting from his open window kisses the skin of his torso. He lets out a shuddering breath and scrambles to find a decent shirt, only to realize he packed all of his straggling things last night. Groaning inwardly, he shakes his head and walks out of his room, finding Kazama building a makeshift fort around himself with the boxes.

_What the –_ Kimishita is taken aback, and he is left standing in the middle of the living room, previously intent on opening the last box he remembers packing for a decent shirt but now stuck wondering if he should laugh or get angry over this new development.

Kazama flashes him a victory sign and then poses like some sort of finicky holier-than-thou monarch. “This is my kingdom, peasant!” He gestures toward the rest of the living room with a flourish, nose upturned condescendingly.  “How dare ye set foot upon my land!”

Kimishita notes how much he mirrors a certain someone’s snooty disposition. He knows he should be annoyed but he couldn’t. Instead, he purses his lips in distaste. “Stop imitating Kiichi.” He snorts, motioning for him to open the purple box to his left. “It doesn’t suit you.” Kazama laughs good-naturedly, deciding in favour of pushing the box toward Kimishita versus opening it himself, making his vice-captain sigh resignedly.

“What made you agree, senpai?” Kazama is curious. He can feel his gaze on him, intense and filled with so many questions it weighs so heavily on his shoulders. He bites his lip as he struggles to maintain his composure. Last night’s events were bizarre, and even he was not immune to whatever it was plaguing the air with supercharged emotions.

“How did you know?”

“Tsukushi told me.”

_Dammit, Tsukamoto._ He groans inwardly. It’s completely his fault, he recognizes it. He shouldn’t have opened his big mouth late last night when his underclassman called to inform him (quite nervously too) that his mother agreed to let him stay if he wants to do so. He remembered Ooshiba’s words then and did his best to let Tsukamoto down as gently as possible. _‘Tried’ is more like it. The kid gets really bothersome when he starts apologizing for every little thing._ Of course he had to tell Tsukamoto that he now has a place to stay. _It was the only thing that would stop him from being so annoyingly considerate._

It’s not as if he’s ungrateful. He **is** grateful. Immensely. However, it’s one thing to offer, and one thing to be insistent, and yet another thing to be doing both out of pity. He doesn’t know whether or not it’s really sympathy that drives his teammates to help him, or some other emotion related to a misplaced sense of duty. Like right now, Kazama is here staring at him questioningly in the middle of a box fortress he must have built out of boredom. Why is he even here after just one word from Tsukamoto? Is it because of Kimishita or because of his friend?

_If that’s the case, what’s different between them and Kiichi?_ Kimishita sighs tiredly. He gathers, it must be their shared history – half of which his counterpart has completely forgotten along with the previously shy attitude both adorable and painful. _Huh. Adorable._ He muses darkly. _He should have just remained the same as when we first met._

“Kimishita-senpai?”

He snaps to attention and his eyes stare blankly at Kazama before focusing enough to see that the previous questioning gaze is now brimming with worry. _He’s really worried about me, isn’t he?_ It’s the perfect moment to understand (grudgingly if he may add) that perhaps, Ooshiba was telling the truth last night. Maybe he should stop looking at things so negatively and so utterly realistically that it paralyzes his sense of camaraderie. The corner of his lip turns up involuntarily. “Because for the first time in his entire existence, Kiichi is right.” He huffs in amusement, shaking his head in slight disbelief at what he’s divulging.

Kazama’s eyes bulges in surprise before the foxy glint in them returns tenfold. “O-ho-ho~, senpai, you just said Ooshiba-san is right about something I don’t really get. Hmm. Does this mean you are getting along better now~?” He leans forward and balances himself on one of the heavy boxes in front of him with a teasing grin. “Are you going to be all lovey-dovey now that you’re frie~nds?”

_This brat._ Kimishita can hear a vein popping in his temple from annoyance. “Shut up and do whatever you came here for, Kazama. It’s too early for your twenty million questions!” He barks, reaching for the box the other pushed toward him earlier, intent on finding a damn shirt.

“But this is exactly what I came here for, senpai~!” The younger man sing-songs mischievously. “I came to help you out with whatever you need~!”

“Because Tsukamoto begged you to.” He snorts, finally grabbing hold of a thick long-sleeved sweater. “Completely whipped.”

“Partly, but mostly because I’ve always wanted to see you with your shirt off, senpai~!” Kazama’s tinkling laugh is infectious, and Kimishita finds his lips curving up in answer.

“Perv.” He shoots back, starting a verbal exchange that would shame any eight-year-old. There is a sudden knock on the door, and he moves to open it while struggling to find which way is front and which is back of his sweater. He hasn’t used it for quite a while and the neckline is the same on both sides after all. Finally deciding on a side (regardless of whether it’s the right one or not – damn nonexistent tags), he slips it over his head and pulls the door open.

“I never knew you had such smooth skin, senpai~!”

“Shut up or I swear I’ll ruin you – **Kiichi.** ” Kimishita falters, seeing Ooshiba standing on his doorstep, wearing warm-looking designer clothes and a dark unreadable look in his eyes. They stare at each other awkwardly; Kazama’s gleeful teasing hovering in the background. He can’t move, feeling as if he is pinned to the spot by Ooshiba’s gaze.

“The brat is here?” His captain finally asks in curious monotone.

“Y-yeah.”

“You’re naked.” Ooshiba observes, prompting him to pull the sweater on the rest of the way hurriedly. He shouldn’t be this flustered, Kimishita knows, but something that resembles judgment in the other’s eyes seems to pierce into him.

It’s enough to make him scramble to defend himself. “Changing out of sleepwear.” He reasons awkwardly, gesturing to his pyjama pants.

“In the middle of the living room.” Ooshiba presses dully. “In front of the brat.”

“This was in the box already packed –” He starts, before realizing what he’s doing, his brows settling on their familiar scowl. “Why am I even trying to explain myself? Just get in.” He tears his gaze away and grabs Ooshiba’s wrist, pulling him bodily inside. He slams the door close, wincing at the protesting squeak from the sliders, and proceeds to shove Ooshiba into the living room when the other finished removing his shoes.

“Who’s at the door, Kimishita-senpai? Is it – AH! Ooshiba-san!” Kazama perks up, eyes shining as he sees the hulking figure of Seiseki’s captain. “Why are you here so early? Unannounced too!”

“Like you’re not the same, brat.” Kimishita retorts with an incredulous snort, watching Ooshiba turn an appraising stare at Kazama, looking at him up and down before cocking his head sideways with a glare. He knows that look, and for once, he’s anxious to know why. It’s suspicion, plain and simple, something he doesn’t understand because it’s not as if they’re doing something wrong. They’re not drinking, nor are they gambling. He frowns, perplexed. “Get out of there and stack the boxes properly.”

“Eh~, I don’t wanna. It’s too early to work my muscles to death, Kimishita-senpai~…” Kazama intones, crossing his arms in defiance.

He’s about to retort when Ooshiba cuts him off with a curt tone. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Kimishita and Kazama turns to him in surprise. “If you’re not here to move boxes, get outta my way.” There is something brewing in their captain’s expression that bothers the hell out of them, and it has never been more apparent to Kimishita who has never seen him quite the same way.

Ever.

Thankfully, Kazama decides to lighten the mood. “But that won’t do, Ooshiba-san. This is my castle. How dare ye step into my kingdom and demand things from me?” He pouts as cutely as possible, eyes widening in an effort to look guileless. In Kimishita’s eyes he looks even more of a bratty kid than usual. Stifling a huff of laughter, he sneaks a peek at the other and finds the previous hard countenance morph into its usual childish lines.

“The hell it is! It’s **my** kingdom! You’ve stolen it from me!” Ooshiba counters noisily, stalking forward and grabbing boxes off the manmade fortress and stealing them to form his own. He effectively engages their underclassman in a battle of speed and agility as they both try to pilfer and prevent the other from pilfering packages whose insides rattle dangerously.

Kimishita is about to put a stop (or at least, protest) their manhandling of his things when he’s interrupted by a vigorous knock on the door from countless knuckles, signaling the arrival of newcomers who were just as boisterously expressing their need to aid their vice-captain’s move.

Silently, he wonders what he had done in the past to deserve this entire, unwarranted ruckus at this ungodly hour. And just as silently, he thanks the Powers-That-Be for planting this dysfunctional group of idiots in his life. Shaking his head, he glances at Ooshiba’s direction and finds him looking back while struggling in a storage tug-of-war with Kazama.

With a small smile mirroring the warmth suffusing his heart, Kimishita turns back to the door, muttering halfheartedly about annoying teammates and equally annoying morning habits.

“Each and every one of you…”  

 

* * *

 

 

**TBC**

 

* * *

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always seen Kazama as the bratty little brother Kimishita never had. :)
> 
> They share some sort of bond, considering their interactions. They're alike in so many ways, that I believe they understand each other perfectly, and I guess it shows when Kazama keeps bothering Kimishita on and off the field like younger siblings often do. :)


	11. Responsibilities

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Responsibilities**

 

* * *

 

 

Ooshiba wants to scream.

He has always been one to know specifically what he wants in life and always, **always** surges ahead to take hold of it knowing full well what the consequences are and the methods he can use to negate whatever bad aftereffects would materialize. But now here he is; reduced into an explosive mess, after getting scolded by his father over the phone because of something he has no control of whatsoever.

But that was that and this is this.

This is the source of all his problems for the past few days.

“C’mon, let me in.” He intones, shaking the door knob after another bout of twisting and turning. “C’mon…”

“Go away.” Kimishita sniffles hoarsely from behind the door, his voice shaky and tone watery. Ooshiba doesn't even know why he’s trying to get the other to open the damn door – it’s **_his_** house and he has a master key. Sighing, he bangs his head against the solid wooden barrier separating them, and gives the knob one more rattle before giving up. There isn't any point trying to force his vice-captain to open the damn thing.

It’s not like it’s completely his fault. Ooshiba’s only transgression against his ‘ever-cheerful’ (note the sarcasm here) house mate is forgetting to tell him how the rain shower works. In his defense, he thought anyone would be able to figure it out – it’s just a shower. But apparently, it doesn't work that way, and it resulted into Kimishita turning the knob all the way to the highest setting. Water blasted him so hard from above that he ended up flat on the marble floor, taking him a long while before he was able to crawl away and out the glass shower door.

“Your prescriptions are here.” He cajoles stiltedly. “You won’t get better if you don’t take them.”

“Later. Just… just go away.”

The other’s voice is small and seemingly fading, that he almost doesn't realize what has been said. Frowning, he wonders if he should just use the master key. He should at least be able to make a decent decision over something as simple as this. Barging in will definitely incur Kimishita’s wrath. He knows his vice-captain will make sure he wouldn’t be able to touch a ball until vengeance has been quenched... which will probably take a week to blow over. Tops. But he knows that if he doesn't do it now, Kimishita will get worse; now where would that leave him and the team?

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and slips the key in almost soundlessly if not for the light clicking sound of the lock catching. Slowly, he pushes the door open, careful to step sideways in an effort to create an escape route in case he becomes a standing target of someone whose accuracy is the stuff of nightmares. But there is nothing. Nothing is thrown, nothing even so much as **_stirs_** as he steps inside the room. There is a clinical stench in the air, something between the pungent eucalyptus smell of vapor rub and the aroma of freshly laundered sheets. It tickles his nose as he inches closer, eyes watching the other’s motionless figure under the covers. It is a miserable sight, and for someone like Kimishita who prides his resilience to anything and everything, the misery must have permeated into his very soul. “Ki–” He starts, only to be abruptly cut off by a particularly vicious sneeze. Ooshiba recoils involuntarily, his body wired to avoid sick people over the years. “Kimi–” he starts again, this time choking on his words upon seeing the other’s face.

Kimishita’s eyes are watery, a testament to his sickness, and tears are streaming down the side of his eyes. They’re looking straight at Ooshiba, but they don’t seem to actually **_see_** him. He can surely hear him though, for all the shying away the other is doing.

 _Is he trying to escape from me by disappearing under the sheets?_   Ooshiba thinks irritably, stalking the rest of the way and planting himself at the side of his sick house mate’s bed. “You’re sick.” He huffs, glaring at the other with his arms crossed. Kimishita makes an unintelligible noise and burrows deeper under the covers. “It’s not my fault. Stop acting like it is.” He grates out. “I’m trying to help you out because I’m your magnanimous landlord, okay.”

“Get out.”  Kimishita groans weakly; scooting away from Ooshiba the best he could, considering the circumstances. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“This is my house.” Ooshiba counters, scowling.

“I know… at least, just…” Kimishita coughs, motioning toward the side table’s drawer. Confused, Ooshiba opens the drawer and stares at a box of individually-packed sterile face masks. _Oh_. He finally understands why he is being driven away. Smiling inwardly, he takes a pack and opens it, carefully putting the mask on and securing the sides, making sure he can still breathe properly through the material. Then, he closes the drawer and turns back to his sick house mate with a sigh.

“You could have just told me earlier.” He snorts at Kimishita’s attempt at a frown. “Ugh. Y’know what? Shut up. Just… shut up and take your meds.” He takes the prescription pack from his back pocket and tosses it on the other’s stomach. He mutters as Kimishita stares blankly at him. “I’ll… go get you some water.”

Sighing, Ooshiba lets himself out of the room and shuts the door, leaning against it weakly before heading toward the kitchen. He’s not used to being in charge of someone else’s health. All he has ever done is think of himself since his parents and older sister all dote on him, being the youngest in the family. Having Kimishita around puts him at a disadvantage. He doesn’t know how to act around him in such close quarters, nor does he know how to cope with having someone go to and from school with – especially a teammate. He knows he can’t treat him the way he does outside because the guy acts differently the moment they enter the unit. It feels like Kimishita is doing his best to be as helpful as he can and then retreats into his room once **_all_** the outstanding chores are done. It feels like he’s living with some sort of ultra-responsible ghost or something.

He opens the fridge and feels the bottles of mineral water for the least cold one and takes it out, reaching for paper towels to wrap around it to prevent condensation from dripping onto his sick house mate. He’s debating whether or not to take a straw back when a sudden crashing sound startles him. Ooshiba breaks out into a run and opens Kimishita’s door with a loud bang. “What the fuck are you doing?!” He yells angrily, eyes narrowing into slits as he takes in the sight of Kimishita crumpled midway between the bed and the door, trying to balance himself on the nearby chair (which he supposed was what crashed earlier) lying on its back. His heart is beating loudly, masking his inexperience with anger as he drops the bottle of water and stalks forward. His hand clenches around Kimishita’s bicep and lifts him to his feet easily, sweat beading on his temples upon the realization that the weight he supports is way lighter than usual. _Dammit._ He groans inwardly, his other hand gripping the other bicep in an effort to steady him.

“Let me go! I –” The unsteadiness in Kimishita’s feet is too obvious to ignore. Growling, Ooshiba has no choice but to haul him up in his arms and carry him like a goddamn bride back to bed. “Quit it!” He grates irritably when the other starts protesting and twisting feebly in his hold. “If you don’t stay still, I’m gonna drop you.” He threatens, steadying himself as he takes a small shaky step toward the bed. It must be the hard edge in his voice that grinds the resistance to a halt. Kimishita seems to have lost his fight after one last writhing motion and slumps in Ooshiba’s arms, staying as still and silent as he could.

“That’s better.” Ooshiba mumbles, sidestepping the prescription pack that has fallen on the floor and carefully deposits his charge back on the high bed. He helps Kimishita sit with his back against the headboard and nods in satisfaction after plopping a down pillow on the sick man’s lap. “You already had your lunch earlier, so you take your meds now. Ah, wait…” He scrambles to get the water bottle he had dropped and trots back, righting the chair and positioning it beside the bed. He promptly sits down and busies himself with twisting open the cap and tearing away the wet paper towel that has already accumulated all the condensation on the bottle's surface. He can feel Kimishita’s eyes on him, watching his actions closely, even more so than before if the heat he feels from them is any indication.

“Here you go.” He says, holding the bottle out to Kimishita and noting the slight shake in the other’s hands as he takes it from him. Ooshiba’s skin prickles when they touch. gritting his teeth, he reminds himself to stop involuntary reactions or else the bottle will end up drenching them both. Then it _**really**_ will be his fault if Kimishita gets worse. That simply won’t do. He stoops down and picks up the prescription bag, the brown paper noisily crumpling in his hand as he rips it open to get to the medicine inside. He recognizes one of them – the powder is quite bitter if he remembers correctly – but is unable to identify the other. He glances at the clock and checks the intake time of each medication, deciding that it’s fine to start with the antibiotic first, and the flu medicine following half an hour later. With deliberate motions, he tears open one packet with his teeth and offers it to Kimishita with a flourish. “Here.”

Kimishita takes it from him delicately, fingers still shaking. “Kiichi.” He starts, prompting Ooshiba to catch and hold his gaze. “You don’t have to do this.” He murmurs quietly.

Ooshiba doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so it takes him a while before he finally answers. Leaning back on the chair, he places the medicine on the side table and slips his hands in his pockets. The most generic reason he can think of sounds false in his ears, but he says it anyway. “I’m a doctor’s son, I don’t like being sick or seeing someone else sick. It goes against my nature.” He recites monotonously, snickering wryly as he sees the dubious look on Kimishita’s face. “Okay, okay. That’s not really it.” He allows with a chuckle. “I… I don’t know, really. This is new to me, taking care of someone else – much less you of all people.”

“Oi.” Kimishita tries to glower but fails and settles for a look of displeasure instead.

“Don’t look at me like that, idiot. I’m being honest here.” Ooshiba protests.

“For a change.”

“Hey!” He chucks a small piece of wrapping paper at him. “I really don’t know why, okay. I just… want to. I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Yeah.” Ooshiba offers a small unsure grin. “It’s kinda like… I can’t leave you alone. For some reason.”

“For some reason.”

He sighs. “Can you stop parroting me? It’s annoying.” He shifts in his seat and gazes at Kimishita thoughtfully. “Doc says it’s because of fatigue. That if I called a day late, you would’ve been in a hell lot of trouble.” He takes a deep breath, amazed that he could still do so despite the face mask making the tip of his nose itch. “I don’t get it. It’s not like I’m working you to death. You’re not supposed to be doing anything at all in here.”

Kimishita chooses to stay silent; instead, he taps the powdered medicine in his mouth. Grimacing, takes a swig of water to get rid of the taste before crumpling the empty packet in his hand. Ooshiba eyes him, scrutinizing the play of expressions on his face. “Even if you laze around all day, I’m not gonna kick you out, y’know.” He says quietly. The guilty look that crosses Kimishita’s features is all he needs to know why it came to this. “I’m not.” He reiterates, leaning forward earnestly, his elbows on his knees. “Get it through your thick skull, idiot. I’m not gonna kick you out just because of something as stupid as that. We can always ask the building’s cleaners to do it for us.”

“It’s a waste of money.” Kimishita finally murmurs, twiddling his fingers. “I can do my own laundry.”

“And getting up extra early to do chores while I’m still asleep? Cleaning the common areas **_and then_** making breakfast?” Ooshiba’s tone takes on a hard edge. “Then we have early morning practice, then school, then more football practice, then you make dinner when we get back here, then you do your homework afterward, and then you do God knows what else before bed.”

“Kiichi… I…”

“You think I don’t notice?” He hisses. “We’ve been living together for a couple of weeks now, and you still haven’t taken up my offer to help out. You keep doing all these things alone that I’ve become a couch potato since you came here, sitting like a bug in front of the TV... sometimes even like some damn old fogey.”

“Kiichi.”

“You fucking idiot.” Ooshiba runs a hand through his hair, patience worn and all kinds of broken. “Dad scolded me for fifteen minutes straight earlier, telling me not to treat you like a personal servant, something I clearly haven't done. Take responsibility and get better.” He stands up abruptly and walks out of the room, leaving Kimishita staring helplessly at the wake of his anger.  

“I’ll come back in half an hour to make sure you take your medicine. For now, go sleep.” Ooshiba stops at the doorway and glances back at him for a second before turning away. He shuts the door soundly behind him, but not before he hears the uncharacteristically small and hoarse voice say his name softly.

“Kiichi… Thank you.”

* * *

 

 

**TBC**

       

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was an ultra-long delay. Sorry about that. I just finished my thesis proposal and its post-defense revisions. I'm itching to keep this going. I missed these two and this series terribly.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Days is solely owned by Tsuyoshi Yasuda. This is a non-profit fic written based on the series for entertainment and plot bunny satisfaction purposes. That is all.


End file.
